


The Paths We Take

by griever11



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Rival CEOs, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 11:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 67,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15314133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griever11/pseuds/griever11
Summary: Rival CEOs AU.Felicity Smoak, CEO and founder of her own company, is trying to prove herself in the cutthroat world of the technology industry among the other bigwigs in the game.Oliver Queen, recently back from the dead is trying to prove to the world that he's no longer the same man-child who went down on the Queen's Gambit and is finally worthy of his family's legacy.Both equally formidable names in the corporate world.And both with a long, complicated history with each other that no one but themselves are privy to.





	1. Chapter 1

“For someone who’s about to be given a very prestigious award, you don’t look very happy.” 

Felicity lets out a suffering sigh and finishes her martini before she turns around from where she’s casually leaning on the smooth surface of the open bar to address her very infuriating business partner. She plasters a smile on her face, wide and toothy, and completely fake, before answering him. 

“I’m totally enjoying myself, what are you talking about?” 

Curtis rolls his eyes. “I have not seen you this miserable since the day we failed to -” 

“We don’t talk about that day, Curtis,” she hisses. She must have come off more annoyed than she thought because he takes a tiny step back from her. She waves him off and closes her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just... these things make me so uncomfortable. You know that.” 

“All you have to do is go on stage, get the award, and then come back down. You’ve done this dozens of times before, what’s so special about this one?”

Her fingers tighten around the stem of her martini glass as she avoids Curtis’ curious gaze, focusing instead on the navy blue nail polish that matches her dress for tonight, glimmering in the cosy setting of Starling Grand's main ballroom.

She hasn’t been back here in years, never really having a reason to once she left for college. Starling City is... _complicated_ for her. A mess of good and bad and in-between memories that she’d tried really hard to ignore for the longest time.

Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted the invitation tonight.

“The big deal, Curtis, is that being back in Starling is really weird for me, okay? Especially when everyone is here. Every big shot in the tech industry. I think I saw Bruce talking to Ray before and -” 

She falters mid-sentence when the room descends into a hushed silence, the buzz of conversation around her pausing as every head turns towards the entrance of the ballroom.

Yeah. _Everyone_ is here.

Including Oliver Freaking Queen.

The man strides into the room like he owns it, tall and proud, signature cocky smirk on his face. How is it possible that he allegedly (allegedly, because she hasn’t found the time to find actual, _concrete_ evidence) spent five years marooned on an island and can still come back looking like _that_?

He fills out his suit very nicely, and always has, her memories supply. But this time, the sleek cut accentuates his much broader shoulders and the sleeves do nothing to hide the way the muscles in his arms ripple every time he shakes someone’s hand.

Flashes of a much younger, less muscular Oliver dances in her mind’s eye and she has to shake her head to get rid of them. His hair is no longer the shaggy mop that TMZ used to play on repeat in all the news bulletins, and instead is now very nicely styled, neat and close cropped, reminiscent of the Oliver from her memories. 

Yeah, okay, fine. The man looks good. She can admit that.

“Do you think that island he got washed up on was really like, a fancy spa retreat or something, because _daaaaamn,_ ” Curtis huffs breathlessly next to her.

“Keep it in your pants, Curtis,” she mutters. Her eyes track his movement through the ballroom, watching with muted interest as the crowd parts for him like he’s Moses and they’re the red sea.

Typical.

“Why is he even here?” she muses out loud, frowning when a woman with long, dark hair takes his elbow and hangs on to him for the rest of his journey across the room. It’s Laurel, her ever trusty memory bank supplies. 

Great.  

“Considering he’s a Queen, and Queen Consolidated is the company that’s -”

Felicity shoots him a withering look and Curtis snap his mouth shut.

“I _know_ that Curtis. But Oliver’s never been interested in the family business. _Never_. So why’s he here tonight?”

“Wait, back up. _Oliver_? Do you _know_ Oliver Queen? Like, outside of news headlines and I don’t know, Page Six? Because you sound like you _know_ know him and that... actually, that’s not too far fetched because you used to hang around Starling, didn’t you?”

Felicity mentally berates herself at the slip of her tongue and studiously ignores him, turning away from her friend and partner. She waves the bartender over and slides her now empty martini glass to him.

“Another one please, and make it stronger.”

The bartender tilts his head at her with an amused smirk, but says nothing otherwise. Smart man. 

“I’m going to get it out of you somehow, Felicity. You know I will. The entire country went nuts when he came back from the dead six months ago and you said nothing. _Nothing!_ I’m so disappointed in you. I’m glad you’re drinking yourself stupid because that is just going to make it so much easier to get answers out of you.”

“You need to drop this right now.”

She groans and buries her head in the fold of her arms, the reality of being back in Starling, facing her old friends, possibly facing Oliver again - finally hitting her. 

“Hey, how about you accept this award for me? Tell them I’m sick and I had to go home. I’ll meet you at the airport tomorrow.”

 “Uh... Feli-”

“You’ve accepted awards on my behalf before,” she barrels on, lifting her head and watching the bartender mix her drink. Maybe if she stares at him, he’ll make it _faster_. “Just go up there and -”

“Felicity?”

Her back straightens, flinching at the interruption because this time it’s not Curtis’ annoying pestering that cuts her off.

Instead, her skin tingles at the familiarity of his voice and she’s overcome by memories of _him_ , and _them_ and that same voice chuckling in her ear, whispering to her in the dead of the night, pouring his heart out to her that one time they made it out to the Vegas desert and drove aimlessly for hours.

She sucks in a steadying breath, counts down from three and slowly, very slowly, turns around.

Everything around her fades away the instant she sees him. Nothing else exists except for _him_ , the smirk on his face, and the million and one flashes of memories replaying in her mind’s eye.

“Oliver.”

“I was hoping it was you.”

She’s vaguely aware of Curtis excusing himself as he pushes his way past her and Oliver, muttering something about ‘eye sex’ and ‘sexual tension’. She pays him no heed. How can she, when her heart is pounding so hard it’s threatening to burst out of her chest? Her hands start to sweat and she balls them into fists, trying not to completely lose it in front of him.

The difference between this Oliver Queen and the Oliver she knew then is more prominent now that he’s up close. The light smattering of stubble along his jaw makes him look wolfish, a little bit _dangerous_ \- a far cry from the clean shaven frat boy thing he had going on almost six years ago now.

The boy she used to know had very expressive eyes, bright blue, open, and so very intense. But now, though the intensity still remains, there’s a hint of something _else_ lurking beneath that she can’t quite place.

“You changed your hair,” Oliver states before the silence between them becomes too awkward. He drops his gaze down the length of her dress, then drags his eyes up to her face, leaving a trail of heat and intrigue dancing it’s way up her body.

“Yeah, well, you changed your beard,” Felicity blurts out, desperately trying to distract herself from the strange fuzzy feeling in the bottom of her stomach from the way he’s looking at her.

A second later she cringes and sighs, pressing her lips together. “Not that... you had a beard to change, before. So you technically didn’t change it... you just... _have one_ now.”

The corner of Oliver’s lips tilts upwards in a lopsided grin. “I see the babbling hasn't changed, at least.”

Felicity swallows, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny. She unfurls her fists and slides her hands down her dress, suddenly self-conscious.

She doesn’t like the way he’s evoking what she thought were long-forgotten feelings within her, doesn’t like the sudden churning in her gut, and she _definitely_ doesn’t appreciate the way he’s staring at her as if -

As if he didn’t once have her entire heart in his hand, and then crushed it into a million tiny pieces like it had been nothing to him.

She takes a step back and feels the sharp edge of the bar top digging into her back. Her martini - finally! - appears next to her and she claims it, taking a huge sip from the glass before schooling her features.

She’s Felicity Megan Smoak, child prodigy, certified genius, founder and CEO of one of the most sought after development and consulting companies in the country. She can handle being civil to Oliver Queen.

“What are you doing here?” she asks coolly, steering their conversation away from their complicated past. “You hate these things.”

“My mother thought it would be good for me to put in an appearance on behalf of Queen Consolidated. She’s ah... grooming me to take over.” Oliver rolls his eyes. “Made me take a business course and everything.”

“She finally managed to pin you down long enough to finish something, did she?” Felicity smirks. It’s a long-running joke between them - or it had been anyway - because he’d swapped and dropped out of so many courses and colleges when he  was younger.

“Yeah, well. Being uh, away for so long... It gave me perspective.”

Oh, frack. _Yeah._ Felicity mentally slaps herself.

The island.

He’s been lost at sea for five years, has only been back for six months, and here she is giving him a hard time for trying to ease back into society. Is she really that much of a horrible person that she can’t let go of her dumb, unresolved issues long enough to remember that he’s been through hell recently?

“Oliver, I’m sor-”

She’s cut off by Curtis materialising next to Oliver, bumping shoulders with him, with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Felicity, they need you backstage. So you should go. Now.” Curtis hands a flute of sparkling to Oliver and winks at him. “You look really nice, Mr. Queen. Been to any spas recently?”

Oliver furrows his eyebrows at the man, then turns to Felicity with a questioning glance. “Friend of yours?”

“Curtis Holt, Oliver Queen. Curtis is my business partner,” Felicity mutters darkly. “You’ll have to excuse him, he’s not house trained yet.” 

Curtis scoffs. “Ha ha, you think you’re so funny. But I’m serious, they’re looking for you Felicity. You should go.”   

Curtis looks way too chipper, too _tipsy_ , and she’s really apprehensive about leaving him alone with Oliver, but she doesn’t have choice.

“Fine, I’m just gonna...” she waves a hand towards the stage and squares her shoulders. She downs the rest of the martini, shivers through the burn of alcohol traveling down her throat, and exhales. She looks to Curtis, then to Oliver, noting that Curtis is practically mooning at him.

Oliver just smirks at her and she rolls her eyes at him before she turns to face Curtis. She can feel Oliver staring at her back, so she makes a point to speak loudly, just to goad him with an inside joke she never thought she’d have a reason to bring up again.

“Curtis, if he asks you to delete his browser history while I’m up there, do _not_ help him.”

* * *

  
**1999**

Felicity Smoak is ten years old when she first learns of the Queen name.

She’s having lunch in the school cafeteria when an older student slaps a bright, colourful flyer onto the table, sending her juice box flying onto the floor. She glares at the student’s retreating back, affronted, but does nothing in the end because she’s tiny and new and picking a fight with someone a whole head taller than her is probably not the smartest way to make a good first impression in a new school.

So she glances down at the flyer instead, her interest piquing when she sees the words ‘School Trip’ and ‘Science Club’. Clutching the piece of paper excitedly in her hand, she quickly scans it and her heart leaps into her throat. Just then the bell rings and she shoves it into her bag, making a mental note to come up with a pro and cons list she can present to her mother when she gets home.

Unfortunately for her, pros outweighing the cons notwithstanding, Donna Smoak does not share her excitement for the proposed trip.

“It just doesn’t sound too exciting, honey,” her mother tells her, scrunching her nose in distaste later that day when she scrutinises the flyer. “It’s just a tour around some lab in Starling City.”

Not for the first time in her life, Felicity wonders if Donna really is her biological mother.

“Mom. It’s _Queen Consolidated_. I looked it up at the school library today, and their Innovation and Applied Sciences Division is one of the best in the country. It’s just a day trip! And the Science Club -”

“You joined the the Science Club?” Donna tilts her head at her, a confused look on her face. “I thought you wanted to join the Drama Club?”

“No, _you_ wanted me to join the Drama Club, Mom. And I didn’t join the Science Club, it’s just being organised by them.” Felicity scowls, ripping the flyer out of her mother’s hand.

“Never mind. It’s not like you’ll get it anyway. And just so you know, there’s nothing wrong with the Science Club.”  

She shoulders her backpack as she stomps into her room in disappointment, but not before she hears her mother mutter something about the irony of her being so _dramatic_ about everything.

She shouldn’t have been surprised, really. Her mother never really understood her fascination with technology. If her father were here, _he’d_ understand. A pang of sadness washes through her at the thought and she’s suddenly angry at herself for even thinking about him.

The man didn’t deserve even a second of her time.

Flopping onto her bed, face down with tears in her eyes, she screams into her pillow. She’s never asked for anything in her short life. Never questioned it when her mother told her all too calmly that Dad was probably never coming back. Never questioned the half a dozen times they’d had to move in the three years after that, just following along because despite her tender age she was smart enough to know that what was happening went way beyond her comprehension.

But all she wants this time is to go on what seems like would be a really cool trip to visit one of the most advanced labs in the country - in the _world_ , maybe. She’s not sure, she didn’t get that far in her research. And her mother won’t even allow her to do that.

She could forge her mother’s signature for the permission slip, she thinks. It’ll be easy enough. The trip is on a Saturday, which means her mother will be at work all day - possibly well into the night. She’d be able to go and come back and her mother won’t even suspect a thing.

She turns around on her bed and stares at the ceiling. It could work.

* * *

 

She decides she’s going to live in Starling City forever.

It’s practically a done deal.

Not like, now or anything, but once she’s a grown up and has a job and a home, she’s going to live here. This charming city with the tall buildings and the beautiful parks and the fresh air. She’s so not going to miss the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke that Vegas is constantly engulfed in, that’s for sure.

And Queen Consolidated?

A dream come true.

Their tour guide, a mousy redhead by the name of Kevin takes them through the company’s primary research lab and she feels like she’s walking through a sci-fi movie. Pristine white worktables, machinery whirring around her, smart looking people in lab coats doing smart looking things - Felicity’s captivated by it all.

She wanders through the lab, marveling at everything before her. There’s a really big printer in the corner of the room that looks like it’s printing an arm, like a _life-sized_ human arm and she gravitates towards it on autopilot.

The technology is familiar only because she’s read about it in the magazines she steals from her neighbour’s front porch. The term _3D printing_ has been nothing but a vague idea thrown around in the tech industry circles but it’s real and it’s _here_ and wow, how did they even program a machine to print a human arm out of -

“You don’t want to touch that.”

Felicity gasps at the voice, pulling her hand back like she’s been burnt. Whirling around, she comes face to face with an older, much taller boy - definitely not from her school group - and she blinks at him guiltily.

“I wasn’t going to,” she denies. “But it’s printing an arm. And it looks so real and I just wanted to have a closer look.”

“Sure.” The boy squints at her, his terribly long hair flopping over his forehead. “Whose kid are you anyway? I didn’t know it was bring your daughter to work day.”

The way he calls her a kid, in that bored, dismissive tone, irks her and Felicity folds her arms and glares at him. “I’m Felicity. Whose kid are _you_?”  

“Excuse me? I’m... I’m _Oliver_.” He say his name slowly, like it should mean something to her but its not ringing any bells so she just shrugs.

“Well, okay then Oliver. I’m here with my school and they’re taking me on a tour so I have every right to be here. Just so you know.”

Oliver furrows his eyebrows. “I think your tour’s moved on without you.”

Felicity purses her lips and inches up on her tiptoes so she can see past the boy’s shoulder. True enough, her group is nowhere to be seen and she frowns.

“Did you see where they went?”

The boy shoots her an exasperated look. “No, but you should go all the same. These are expensive things and you really don’t want to accidentally break them.”

“I’m not stupid, Oliver,” Felicity grumbles.

A swirling pit forms in her stomach at the thought that her school might have left without her. She’s new after all. She doesn't have any friends who would realise she’s missing. What if the teacher loses the student list and forgets she’s on the tour as well?

What if she can’t get home on time and her mother finds out and then she’s grounded, _forever_? She’ll never be able to finish school, or go to college or move to Starling City!

Her panic must be reflected on her face because Oliver’s expression softens and he crouches down so that he’s eye to eye with her.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure they’re still around somewhere. Let me just put this somewhere safe and we can track down your friends, okay?”

Felicity nods and that’s when she notices that the 'this' Oliver is referring to is a laptop, sleek and shiny and it’s basically calling out to her. She’s never actually seen one before. Her father used to bring home parts for her to play with, but they were for the bigger desktop machines, and the computers at her school were even more outdated.

She just wants to touch it. Just a _little_ bit.

“What’s wrong with the laptop?” she asks curiously, reaching out for it. But her hands are too short and Oliver’s standing up, keeping the precious thing just out of her reach.

He shrugs, turning the laptop over in his hands. “I don’t know. It’s broken. I was looking for someone down here to fix it for me.”  

“I can do it!” she exclaims, her anxiousness about losing her school group dissipating now that she’s distracted by the prospect of being able to tinker with technology. “Can I have a look? Please?”

The look he gives her screams of incredulity and disbelief but for some reason - she’s not going to question it at this point. She really isn’t stupid - he just shrugs again and hands it to her wordlessly.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” she squeals as she takes it from him. It’s heavy, much more than she expected, but no way is she going to let that stop her.

She sinks to the floor, pulling her legs in so she sits cross-legged, with the precious laptop balanced on her thighs. She pushes the button she assumes will bring it to life, and the laptop beeps loudly, but nothing else happens.

“Can you find me a screwdriver, please?” she asks Oliver without looking at him. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and flips the laptop over, scrutinising the back plate. It’s just a smaller version of a desktop, right? How different can it be from the computers she’s tinkered around with?  

Oliver hovers behind her for a moment, lurking in her periphery until he eventually decides to plop down right next to her on the floor, screwdriver in hand.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Felicity bites her bottom lip but doesn’t answer him, already deep in what her father used to call ‘troubleshooting mode’. She pries open the back plate with expert ease, humming to herself because she absolutely _loves_ this.

Her blood sings with excitement. This - _this_ is what she wants to do for the rest of her life. She’s sure of it.

“I think your RAM stick is loose,” she murmurs once she’s had her fill of digging around inside the laptop. She lifts her head and turns to Oliver, glaring at him. “Oliver, did you _drop_ this super cool custom Queen Consolidated laptop?”

“Um. Yeah, I didn’t think it would break though.”

Boys are dumb, she thinks. So reckless. Imagine dropping such a precious machine and not even feeling the tiniest bit remorseful about it.

“Don’t do it again,” she mutters, pushing the RAM stick back into its slot. She screws the plate back in and powers it on.

The screen lights up, displaying the Queen Consolidated splash screen and she turns to beam triumphantly at Oliver. “All done!”

Oliver fixes her with a strange look, like he doesn’t know if he wants to smile or scowl. Eventually, he settles on something that looks like respect, and then he gets up onto his feet, holding his hand out to take the laptop from her.

“Thanks, Felicity.” He slides the laptop into his bag and secures it before tilting his head at her. “You’re really weird, you know that?”

“Why’s that?” Felicity asks as she stands up as well. She imitates him, cocking her head as well and blinks at him. “Is it because I can fix computers?”  

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Well, mister Oliver, you’re in the I.T. department of Queen Consolidated and I bet _everyone_ here probably knows how to fix computers, so I think _you’re_ the weird one ‘cause you can’t.”

Oliver looks stunned for a second, but then his face cracks into a wide grin and he chuckles loudly. “Yeah, okay, _fine_ , smarty pants. You got me there. Do you want to go look for the rest of your group now?”

“Yes, please,” she answers, because stupid, reckless boy or not, she’d much rather wander the halls of Queen Consolidated with him than by herself. Plus, he’s kind of nice in his own way, even if he did call her weird. And he has really pretty eyes.

Oliver’s a lot taller than she is so his strides are long and he walks a little too fast for her, but she doesn’t mind. She stays a few paces behind, careful not to lose sight of him.

He leads her through the halls like an expert, but he doesn’t look old enough to be an employee and definitely isn’t tech savvy enough to be working in the I.T department, so what exactly is he doing here?

“Are you an intern?” she asks as she hurries to catch up with him, inching up on her toes to tap him on his shoulder.

“Uh, no way,” Oliver mumbles, ducking his head into one of the rooms they walk past. “No one in here.”  

“Are you the janitor then?”

“What? _No_.”

“Well, you have janitor hair,” she tells him.

Oliver stops abruptly and Felicity runs into him, her head bumping into the solid plane of his back.

“Ow, don’t just stop walking, Oliver! You’re so hard!”

“I’m not - Felicity, I’m _fourteen,_ and what’s wrong with my hair?” Oliver sputters, his cheeks tinged pink for some reason. See? Weird. He’s definitely the weird one. But then he clears his throat and squares his shoulders and the grumpy, broody boy is back.  

“I’m not the janitor, okay. Or an intern, or anyone that you should be worrying about. And I think we found your friends.”

They’ve arrived at the foyer of the building, and as she follows Oliver’s line of sight, she spots the group of students from her school gathered by the front desk. No one seems to be in any particular hurry, which means her absence hasn’t been noticed.

Good.

“They’re not my friends,” Felicity states, pursing her lips. Oliver wrinkles his eyebrows and she sighs before elaborating. “I just go to school with them. I’m new, so no one knows me yet.”

She tries really hard, but she can’t help the melancholy feeling that seeps into her carefully guarded heart. And then after a beat, she shakes it off - what’s the point of being sad, really? - and huffs. “I could have stayed longer looking at the 3D printer. They don’t even know I’m gone.”

As if he can sense her sadness, his lips curl up into a lopsided grin. It’s genuine, she thinks. Like he’s not just trying to placate or patronise her and it makes her feel good again.

“They’d be stupid not to want to be friends with you. And hey, I’ll be your friend. I bet having a super smart computer expert friend will come in handy one day.”

She stares at him for a moment, bewildered at his offer of friendship, because he’s _older_ , and a _boy_ , but then shakes her head with regret. “I don’t live here, Oliver. I’m from Vegas. It’s too far to be friends.”

“Oh.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, thinks about it for a second and shrugs. “We can still be friends, I promise. Give me your email or something. Next time you’re here I’ll make sure you get to drool over whatever printer you want, for however long you want.”

He’s smiling at her again, and it takes away some of the aching loneliness in her heart. Who  _is_ he, honestly? Why is the world so unfair that the first friend she’s made since they moved to Vegas is this strange older boy in _Starling City_ of all places? She’s probably not coming back here again, unless there’s another school trip _and_ if her mother doesn’t find out about this one.

“Felicity?”

She pulls herself out of her thoughts and nods as she swings her backpack around, unzips it and pulls out her notebook and a pen. “Yeah, okay, I can give you my email address.”

Her handwriting is neat normally, but she makes sure it’s extra neat now so that he doesn’t misread her note. The page rips easily and she folds it in half before handing it to Oliver.

He winks at her as he pockets it. Glancing over the top of her head, he frowns and then looks back down at her. “You should probably get back to your group. If they didn’t notice you before, I think they’re noticing you now.”

Sure enough, when she turns back to where the rest of them are gathered, everyone is staring at the two of them, including the two chaperone teachers, mouths agape.

“‘Kay, I’ve changed my mind. _They’re_ the weird ones,” Felicity murmurs.

Whirling around, she gives him one last smile and before she can question her sudden impulse, she reaches out to hug him. It’s quick and hurried, and as she pulls away, her little heart swells with gratitude when she finds that he’s grinning back at her.

“Bye, Oliver!” She adjusts her bag over her shoulder, waves, and strides off without another look back.

* * *

 

She doesn’t find out until half an hour into their trip back to Vegas that her new friend Oliver is in fact Oliver _Queen_. Heir to the entire Queen empire, Oliver Queen.

Mainly because her teachers give her a stern talking to about wandering off and bothering ‘very important’ people she’s not supposed to be bothering, and that’s when it clicks.

So she’s not too bummed out when he doesn’t contact her because he probably has better things to do. Important heir-like things, or whatever rich boys do in their spare time. It doesn’t change anything for her, in any case. He’s still going to be the nice, slightly grumpy boy with the pretty eyes who offered to be her friend when he found out she had none.

But about a month later, she finds a weird email from an address she doesn’t recognise in her inbox, with the subject line _'help pls’._ Against her better judgment, because _viruses_ , she clicks on it and hopes she hasn’t compromised her entire school’s network.

Turns out the body of the email contains the furthest thing from a virus and she can’t help the smile that blooms across her face when she reads it.

_Felicity._

_Need help. How do u delete stuff u dont want ur parents to know ur looking at._

_Oliver._

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which despite her best efforts, Felicity finds herself unable to leave Starling City in the past.

When Felicity wakes up, it’s to the incessant buzzing of her phone, smushed between her cheek and her pillow. She moans, feeling like she’s sleeping through an earthquake that only serves to amplify the throbbing pain in her head.

Oh.

She’s _hungover._

Right.

In hindsight, maybe making a beeline to the bar to attempt to avoid Oliver, or to stop thinking about Oliver, or distract herself from _anything_ remotely Oliver related during the ceremony last night hadn’t been the best idea.

She rolls over and groans, her hand stretching to seek out her damn phone. She doesn’t know where her glasses are, but she’s answered many an early morning phone call that it’s second nature now, so she just unlocks it, puts her phone to her ear and clears her throat.

“This is Felicity.”

“ _Wow, you sound so_ not  _good. At all._ ” It’s Curtis, bright and cheery and she wishes she can reach inside her phone to smack the cheeriness out of him.

“Shut up,” Felicity growls, blinking the last vestiges of sleep away. Her brain feels sluggish and cobwebby and just talking makes her head hurt. “What do you want? We’re not due at the airport for hours.”

" _Yeah, about that, change of plans, boss_.”

“What? And don’t call me that.” Felicity shoots up on her bed, hissing through the blinding pain hammering from behind her eyes as she does so. “We can’t change our plans, the meeting with -”

“ _Forget that meeting, we just got a better one. Here. In Starling. Felicity, you’re not going to believe this what I’m going to tell you._ ”

“No, no, the company _needs_ this contract. We’re running on fumes, Curtis and -”

“ _Felicity, it’s A.R.G.U.S_.”

And just like that the pounding in her head fades away, the cobwebs clear and Felicity scrambles out of her bed, nearly tripping over the blanket tangled at her feet.

“Don’t - don’t mess with me Curtis,” she warns, disbelief and anticipation skimming through her veins. Glasses - her glasses, where the hell are they? She can’t handle this conversation without being able to see anything past the blurry colours of the interior of her hotel room.

“ _I’m not messing with you. Lyla Michaels herself sent us an email._ Director Michaels, _Felicity. Apparently she was really impressed, her words, not mine, by what you did and it got us a meeting with her. What exactly_ did _you do, by the way? You never told me._ ”

“Uh.”

Six months ago, she’d hacked into A.R.G.U.S.

Totally illegal and definitely nothing that the Director of A.R.G.U.S. should be  _impressed_ with by any means, but Felicity had been desperate at the time. Desperate and wallowing and suffering from a terrible bout of nostalgia.

So, tripping on five energy drinks and a couple of shots of tequila while having had maybe two hours of sleep in over fifty-ish hours, her sometimes too-smart-for-her-own-good brain decided that submitting a run of the mill tender for a top secret federal contract was too... normal. Too _mundane_ for a job like this.

She really should have stopped once she got past their firewall but - _five energy drinks_ \- so she proceeded to look up Lyla Michael’s calendar appointments on the company server and with the ghost of her memories fuelling her fingers, she added meetings with herself onto every time slot Lyla had free for the next two years.

And then she crashed for three days straight after that and forgot all about her little adventure into A.R.G.U.S.’ servers.

“I sent her our portfolio,” Felicity lies. No need for Curtis to find out the specifics. She finally locates her glasses on the floor by the bed and jams it onto her face. “Guess she saw something she liked?”

"Y _eah, sure whatever. Don’t tell me, I don’t care. My point is that we’re not going back today, our meeting is in three hours and you should get a banana bag or drink a tub of coffee or something because we’re gonna need you to not be hungover when we woo the pants off A.R.G.U.S. okay?”_

He hangs up before Felicity has a chance to respond, the monotonous dial tone ringing in her ear.

Her heart is racing, threatening to burst right out of her chest. She’s had her eye on the A.R.G.U.S.’ defense contract for a really long time and if they manage to win it?

 _Global_ recognition.

She’s done her research and she knows that the competition is stiff. All the big names in the industry have thrown their hat in, from Kord Industries to Palmer Tech, which is why she had to go a little _rogue_ to get A.R.G.U.S.’ attention. Not for a second did she legitimately think it would work, but here she is. Even with the slight disadvantage of being a much smaller player in the game, excitement and confidence bubbles under her skin.

She has a meeting with the Director of A.R.G.U.S., which means they already have one foot in the door, and once she gets rid of the throbbing in her head and - Felicity scrunches up her nose at herself - has a _shower_ , she’s going to prove to them that Smoak Tech is the only company that should be considered for the job.

Maybe coming back to Starling City hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.

* * *

 

Director Lyla Michaels is very intimidating.

Not ‘burly prison guard who can knock you out with their little finger’ intimidating (although Felicity's sure that she’s also capable of that), but more the ‘older sister who disapproves of everything’ kind of intimidating.

She’s sitting across from Felicity and Curtis, her desk between them, silent as she flips through the contents of the folder Felicity presented her at the start of the meeting. Nobody speaks for a few agonising minutes and Curtis turns to Felicity, worry etched on his face.

Felicity shrugs, trying to convey as much reassurance as she can. Silence doesn’t mean it’s bad, really.

But it also doesn’t mean it’s good.

Eventually, Director Michaels shuts the folder and slides it back over to Felicity. Her expression betrays nothing, but as she folds an arm over the other on the table, there’s a steely glint in her eyes.  When she finally does speak, her voice is cool and neutral, bordering on disinterested.

“Do you know that hacking into a federal agency can put you in prison for a really long time, Ms. Smoak?”

Felicity twitches involuntarily and her previously racing heart skids to a complete stop. She crosses her legs, shifting uneasily in her seat. Invisible fingers dig into her heart and she swallows hard.

“I... um. I beg your pardon?”

Deny. Deny. Deny. Deny everything.

Next to her, Curtis shoots her a very confused look, head tilted to one side. Felicity ignores him, focusing instead on matching Director Michael’s steady, really intense, scrutiny.

“And that looking at someone’s calendar appointments is considered a gross breach of privacy?” Director Michaels continues, oblivious to Felicity’s discomfort.

“Well, technically, if you set your calendar appointments to you know, ‘ _public_ ’ it’s not really a breach of privacy if say someone stumbled upon it accidentally? Because it’s public and not... um.” Felicity licks her lips. “That was probably rhetorical, right? You didn’t need me to answer that, so I’m going to shut up now.”

Her palms are sweating and for a split second, it occurs to her that maybe this meeting isn’t so much as a job offer and is actually an _interrogation_ and instead of a career defining opportunity, what she’s going to end up with is a life sentence in some A.R.G.U.S. prison for the rest of her life.  

That won’t have access to the internet.

Oh, _no_.

In the midst of her mini panic attack, she doesn’t notice that an amused smile stretches across the other woman’s face, and is she _chuckling?_   Her fierce demeanor completely melts away, and instead is replaced by a beaming Director Michaels, eyes sparkling with delight.

“Relax, Ms. Smoak, please. No one has ever gone to such lengths to secure a job and that makes you special. I like your spirit.” 

“Wait, you hacked her? You hacked _A.R.G.U.S_.?” Curtis’s asks in a strangely high voice, and when Felicity turns to her partner, his eyes are wide with incredulity and Felicity just nods nervously.

“Just... like, a little bit.” She holds up her thumb and her pointer finger to emphasise her point. “Just so she knows we exist.”

“And now I do, so good job, Ms. Smoak.”

There’s a strange rushing noise in her ears, loud and obnoxious, because the Director of frakking A.R.G.U.S just _complimented_ her on _hacking into their servers_ , and she’s _not_ going to jail for it?

In fact, the expression on Director Michael’s face looks a lot like pride and wow - that’s.

A lot. She almost pinches herself to make sure she’s not daydreaming.

She can hear Curtis saying something next to her, but she can’t bring herself to pay attention because she’s still in a state of disbelief that her hare-brained, drunk off energy drinks and alcohol, _very illegal_ scheme managed to get them this interview.

She can’t feel her tongue, or her face - anything above her neck, because they’re on the brink of maybe landing a really amazing contract with A.R.G.U.S. even though she thoroughly dismantled their security protocols when she _hacked_ them, and it’s all just a little too surreal.

Exhaling slowly, Felicity allows her eyes to flutter shut for a quick second and when she reopens them, begins to to pull herself together.

“Thank you, Director Michaels. I just - _we_ , actually -” she tilts her chin towards Curtis before she continues. “- we’re confident that Smoak Tech is fully capable of carrying out what needs to be done, and as you can see, we have the forecasts and -”

“I’ve read your pitch, Felicity, can I call you Felicity?”

She nods.

“Great. Like I said, I know what you’re offering and I’m going to be frank with you. I want it. A.R.G.U.S. wants it. I’ve done my research on you and your company, and the implementation of your programs and modules will set us so far ahead of every other intelligence agency in the country and that is very exciting.”

Felicity has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from squealing in delight. Next to her, Curtis is practically trembling and yeah, she gets it. This is so much more than they expected.

“But.”

Oh, there it is. There’s always a _but._ Felicity pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and holds her breath.

“There’s nothing in here -” Director Michaels taps a finger against the folder in front of her. “ - that tells me how you’re going pull this off with your... somewhat limited resources.”

Felicity side-eyes Curtis. It’s their biggest problem, and she’s well aware of it. It’s not that her company is doing badly, but they’re new and small and so much of the investment they’ve raised so far is tied up in research and development that they’re running a pretty streamlined operation. It doesn't leave room for much more than a core number of employees and even as C.E.O., Felicity’s down in the trenches with the rest of them working her butt off.

“That’s not going to be a problem, Director Michaels,” Curtis answers. “We have independent contractors that we can -”

“I don’t think hiring third party contractors for such a ... sensitive project is a feasible option for us.”

The air leaves Felicity’s lungs like she’s been punched. Her stomach drops and she can feel this amazing, once in a lifetime opportunity slipping right through her fingers. She wants to scream at the top of her voice at how _unfair_ everything is. Why would they call her in for a meeting, tell her she’s done a good job, only to rip her -

As if the other woman can sense her internal freak out, she reaches out to touch Felicity’s forearm gently.

“Felicity, I’m not saying no.”

“Oh, thank god,” she blurts out. And then she blinks and swallows. Be professional, damn it. “I mean, thank you. For the opportunity.”

Director Michaels chuckles again, a nice, pleasant sound that Felicity’s starting to really be a fan of.

“You’re very refreshing, Felicity. I like that. But you must understand that A.R.G.U.S. can’t risk investing in a project that might fail, or run out of money and manpower halfway through. And that is why I’m proposing a... compromise of sorts.”

“A compromise?” Both Felicity and Curtis repeat at the same time.

“A solution to your problem,” Director Michaels reiterates. She touches a panel on her desk, and speaks into it. “Simon, is my next appointment here yet?”

_Yes, ma’am. Should I send him in?”_

“Yes, thank you.”

Felicity frowns. She hadn’t been aware this was a joint interview. She cuts her gaze to Curtis and her partner looks equally perplexed, which doesn’t set her at ease. Inching forward in her seat, she surreptitiously tries to pull the folder on the desk closer to herself, not about to let some stranger a free look at all their hard work.

The door to the office opens and she swears her heart stops beating when she sees who walks in.

Her mouth falls open and she can’t do anything but blink at the man, cursing under her breath because _of course_ the world would be this cruel.   

Oliver Queen strides in, looking handsome and dapper and so uncharacteristically put together. The man who, up until last night, she thought she’d never cross paths with ever again for the rest of her life.

And now he’s _everywhere_ and it’s taking every ounce of her control not to get up right then and bolt straight out the door.

Felicity can tell the moment he realises who else is in the room, because he jerks to a stop and blinks a few times like he can’t believe what he’s seeing either. To his credit, Oliver recovers quickly and the mild shock on his face is replaced with his well-practiced, too charming smile.

“Lyla, Felicity, Curtis. This is a surprise.”

Curtis mouths ' _Lyla?’_ at her and Felicity shakes her head, shrugging. Oliver’s presence, once again, has triggered way too many unwanted feelings and memories that are currently zipping around in her head and she does not have the capacity to wonder how exactly he’s ended up on a first name basis with the Director of A.R.G.U.S.

“Thank you for taking this meeting, Oliver. You’ve arrived just in time.”

Director Michael’s voice pulls Felicity out of her vortex of repressed memories and she blinks at her. The question that pops out from her mouth is one that she suspects is also on the tip of both Oliver's and Curtis’ tongues, if their equally dumbfounded expressions are anything to go by.

“Just in time for what?”

Director Michael smiles kindly at her. “Just in time for me to explain why Oliver Queen and his company are going to be the solution to all your company’s problems.”

Oh, _hell_ no.  

* * *

 

 

**2002**

“Felicity!”

“ _No_.”

“You don’t even know what I -”

“Whatever it is, I don’t care and the answer is no.”

Just as Felicity’s about to solder the last piece of wire onto the motherboard, he yanks it out from under her nose and she shrieks, soldering iron clattering loudly onto the worktable as she stumbles back.

“Oliver! Why must you?!”

She glares at him as she pinches the bridge of her nose. The stupid boy just grins at her, waving her precious motherboard in the air. His hair is a floppy mess on his head - she doesn’t think he’s had it any other way the whole time she’s known him - and today it falls just past his brow line, and it’s... almost kind of cute?

No. No, no.

She doesn't think he’s cute. He’s annoying and dumb, and at the moment, holding her project hostage in his careless fingers and he’s going to drop it if he keeps waving it around like that.

She stretches out on her tiptoes and yanks it out of his hand, scowling.

“You might not take this program seriously, but I do. So whatever dumb scheme you and Tommy want me to be part of, the answer is no. I’m busy here.”  

“There’s no scheme, I promise. Tommy’s at his grandparents’ and Laurel is at some cheer thing. You do this program every year, Felicity. How much different can it be from last time? Come on. You spend the entire season here and I barely get to see you! Ditch this and hang out with me.”

Felicity sighs and ducks her head so she can finish attaching the wire to her project as she mutters, “We hang out all the time, don’t be a drama queen.”

“Bumping into you while you’re slaving away at my father’s company absolutely doesn’t count as ‘hanging out’, but points for the pun.”

He’s as stubborn as she is, which is to say, _very_ stubborn and he has a very determined look on his face that says he’s not leaving her alone any time soon.

It’s been three years since she met him on her illicit trip to Starling City and since then, much to her delight, she’s managed to come back every summer to attend Queen Consolidated’s Summer Technology Program. Neither one of them ever brings it up but she knows Oliver must have pulled some strings with his family to get her in, and she’ll forever be grateful for it, but honestly.

He may be four years her senior, but she swears more often than not, he acts like he’s younger than she is and she just wants to _strangle_ him.

Like now, for example, as he worms his way into her cubicle, touching things he’s not meant to be touching, making crude comments about inserting Tab A into Slot B, trying to get a rise out of her.

“Can you leave me alone, please? I need to finish this so I can submit it before the deadline for the competition. It’ll look great on my college applications if I win it.”

“ _If_ you win? Felicity, you know you’re going to win,” Oliver rolls his eyes at her. “Everyone knows you’re going to win this dumb competition. There are literally so many other things we could be doing that won’t ruin my summer. And besides, you’re thirteen. Why are you even thinking about colleges? I’m not thinking about colleges.”

She flinches at his question and not for the first time since she’s known him, her skin prickles with irritation. Despite the strange but easy friendship that they’ve maintained over the years, she’s still very aware that they’re from completely different worlds, and when he says things like _‘why are you even thinking about colleges_ ’, it’s never been more apparent.

“I’m thinking about colleges because I _have to,_ Oliver,” she snaps, slamming her palms onto her work table, sending bits of electronics flying. “Unlike _some_ people, I can’t just call my mom and say ‘Hey, I feel like going to Harvard in a couple of years, can you donate a library to the school so they’ll let me in?’ Not everyone is the heir to a billion dollar conglomerate, if you haven't noticed.”

Oliver merely blinks at her, rendered speechless. He takes an infinitesimal step back and opens his mouth, possibly to respond, but Felicity’s on a roll and she can’t stop herself from unloading every single thought that she’s long buried in the back of her mind.

“I know the idea of going to college is equivalent to hell for you, because why would you go to college and study, and _learn_ things when you can just lie in a bed of hundred dollar bills all day?”

She ploughs on, seething, unable to control the tumble of words falling from her lips. “Newsflash, _I_ want to go to college, even if you don’t. I want to go to M.I.T and build computers and write amazing programs that can help people and to do that I have to work really hard and get like a million scholarships because college is expensive, and to get _those_ , I need to win things like _‘this dumb competition’_.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean-”

Felicity cuts him off by storming across the tiny work space allocated to her for the summer and shoves Oliver out of her way, just a little pleased that she manages to make him stumble over his own feet as she does so.

“I’m sorry for ruining your summer, I guess,” she growls, not feeling the slightest bit sorry about it at all. “But getting out of Vegas and getting into M.I.T is the most important thing to me in my entire life so can you please just. Go away? Just go away, Oliver.”

When she’s done, her chest is heaving and her eyes are burning with unshed tears of frustration. She spins around, pointedly ignoring the wild, panicked look on Oliver’s face. Her heart’s still racing and if she looks at him now, she knows she’s going to do something she’ll regret like throw her entire project in his face.

“Felicity, I really -”

She shuts her eyes and clenches her fists. “I have work to do and I would very much like you to leave now, _please._ ”

Silence befalls them, and then finally, when she’s just about to yell at him to leave again, she hears the shuffle of Oliver’s feet as he walks away from her work space without another word.

* * *

 

By the time she leaves the Queen Consolidated building, it’s nearly dark and the sun’s all but disappeared into the horizon. Her stomach grumbles loudly and she realises that amidst all the drama and frustration with Oliver that afternoon, she’d skipped lunch. Great, something else she can blame him for.  

“Hey.”

And speak of the devil. Felicity presses her lips together, suppressing a sigh, and turns around towards his voice, fingers curled around the straps of her backpack.

Sure enough, Oliver’s leaning against the side of the building, arms folded across his chest, staring at her with wide, pleading eyes.

She feels her heart melt, just a little bit. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Um... not long. It’s no big deal, I talked to Laurel to kill time. She says hi.”

He’s brushing it off, but Felicity knows that for him to wait out here for her _is_ a big deal. Because he’s Oliver Queen, arguably one of Starling City’s most popular teenagers - Tommy would be the one arguing - and he definitely could be doing more interesting things than loitering outside his father’s building waiting for her.

“Please. We both know Laurel did _not_ say hi,” she mutters, and all she gets from Oliver is a sheepish shrug.

It’s no secret that tall, gorgeous Laurel Lance doesn’t see Felicity as anything more than an annoying little kid who has no business hanging around her boyfriend. But in all fairness, it’s not like she’s itching to be Laurel’s friend either so she’s content with their non-relationship, despite how much Oliver tries to coerce them to get along.

Shoving her muddled feelings about Laurel aside, she fixes him with a stern glare. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

Oliver pushes off the wall and throws her a tentative smile, lopsided and open and almost too charming, which causes her insides to flutter in an absolutely not at all welcome kind of way. It’s a feeling she’s been getting more often when she’s around him lately and she suspects that it’s not going to go away any time soon, as uncomfortable as it is.

Especially if he keeps looking at her like that.

Completely oblivious to her inner turmoil, Oliver makes his way to her and motions for her to turn around. In a well practiced move, she does as he asks and he slides his hands under the straps of her backpack and pulls it off her arms. He slings her bag over his own shoulder and straightens up, carding his fingers through his messy hair.

“I wanted to apologise for upsetting you before, starting with the burgers that are in my car, still kinda warm and and still totally edible. I bet you forgot about lunch today because you have ‘hangry Felicity’ look on your face so refusing me would be a really stupid move, and we both know how _not_ stupid you are.”

Felicity chews on her bottom lip, stifling her laughter because he’s _babbling_ at her as if her penchant for running her mouth is contagious. It doesn’t happen often, mostly when they hang out together, and only when he’s stressed out or nervous, which begs the question - is hot shot Oliver Queen _nervous_ right now?

How’s she supposed to stay mad at him like this? She stares at him for a long moment, pretending she’s mulling over his offer when she knows she’s already pretty much forgiven him.

“Felicity?” There’s genuine concern in his voice when he speaks her name, and his face falls just a little, the beginnings of a frown forming over his lips.

Her resolve crumbles and deciding that he’s been punished enough, she finally lets herself beam at him, her tongue peeking through her teeth. Oliver sighs with relief, his entire body bowing inwards when he realises she’s only faking being angry.

She loops her arm through his, effectively plastering herself to his side as she drags him to where she knows is his usual parking spot. Just as they get to his car, she stops and turns around as a stray thought flits through her mind, causing Oliver to bump unceremoniously into her.

“Jesus, Felicity, what -”

“You said starting with.”

“Huh?”

She huffs in exasperation. “You said you were apologising, _starting with_ the burgers. What comes after the burgers?”

A big grin spreads over Oliver’s features, even the corners of his eyes are crinkling with mirth. He doesn’t say anything, but opens the door to the back seat of his car and bends down to throw her bag inside.

“You’ll see,” he says, arching an eyebrow cryptically, before pulling open the passenger side door for her. She settles in and buckles her seat belt as Oliver comes round to the drivers side and slides into his own seat.

“You’ll love it, I promise.”

* * *

They spend the first fifteen minutes of their trip in relative silence, with her eating her burger as he drives, feeding him handfuls of fries whenever he nudges her to. But when she’s done with her food, and has nothing but dregs left of her drink, her natural curiosity starts nagging at her in the back of her mind.

She reaches out to poke his bicep. “So... Where are you taking me?”

Oliver casts her side-long look and smirks. “I was wondering how long you’d be able to hold out.”

“That’s not an answer, Oliver.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll see when we get there.”

God, he’s infuriating. She sighs and turns away from him to stare out the window instead, watching as the cityscape melts away, replaced by the lush trees and vegetation rushing past them. They’re heading out of town then.

“You know I don’t like mysteries,” she grumbles, but doesn’t push for more. A small part of her is secretly excited about whatever he’s up to, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“It won’t be a mystery when we get there,” he answers easily. “Like I said, you’ll love it.”

“Fine, drive faster then,” she says, eliciting an amused chuckle from Oliver.

It’s too dark for her to see much else out of the window, so she turns back and starts fiddling with his radio. Oliver doesn’t care what they listen to so she flips channels until a familiar pop song comes on. She grins and starts swaying her head in time to the music.

“Can I ask you a question? And can you not get upset at me for it?” Oliver suddenly asks halfway through the song, which makes her stop dancing in her seat to look at him suspiciously.  

She turns the volume of the radio down and waves a hand at him to continue.

“Why are you thinking about colleges right now? At thirteen?” He turns to her for a second, blinks and then focuses back on the road. “I mean, I know it’s important to you, in the grand scheme of things, and you’re way more mature than other kids your age but _now?_  Really?”

“I’m almost fourteen, excuse you,” she mutters. And then she shuts her eyes, leaning back to burrow into his stupidly plush leather seat, considering his question and how to answer him.

“I don’t want to be my mom,” she whispers eventually, going for the plain and simple truth.

Saying it out loud makes her feel horrible, a dark, shameful, clawing feeling closing around her heart because even though they’re as different as chalk and cheese, and they butt heads more often than they get along, she knows her mother’s doing her absolute best to raise her. 

“My mom dropped out of high school when she had me. She never went to college and now she works like a million hours a week just so we can _barely_ make rent each month.”

Oliver’s left hand leaves the steering wheel, trying to reach out to her but she turns away from him and pulls her hand into her lap and out of his reach.

“Sometimes I wonder about it. If mom finished school, went to college and got a really good job, how different our lives would be. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard trying to make ends meet, maybe dad wouldn’t have left us...” She struggles to hold back a choked sob at the thought of her father - someone she swore she wouldn’t spend another second thinking about again. She clears her throat and adds after a beat, “But I guess I wouldn’t want a dad like him around anyway, someone who just leaves his wife and daughter for no reason.”

“Anyway, I look at your life, and Thea’s, and Laurel’s and Tommy’s and I _want_ it. I want it for me, and I want it for my mom and if it means I have to think about getting into colleges now, then I’ll think about colleges now. Does that answer your question?”

She ends on a shudder of a breath and finally turns to look at Oliver. Her fingers are curled into fists, resting against her thighs, and she braces for the sad pitiful look she’s expecting from him.

But instead of that, she finds that he’s staring at her like he’s in awe of her. As if he’s seeing her as a completely different person and suddenly she feels really self-conscious and dumb, and _why_ in the world did she just unload all of that on him?

She can feel the flames of embarrassment licking up her neck and she gulps, turning away from his gaze to face the dashboard.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” she tells him, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “I want to see my surprise without getting into an accident.”

Oliver doesn’t respond but he does as he’s told. There’s a weird tension in the air rippling around them and Felicity’s regretting every word out of her mouth.

“Can you forget everything I just said?”

“What if I go to college with you?”

Oliver speaks at the same time over her question, and she turns her head so quickly she thinks she’s given herself whiplash.

“ _What_?”

She slants her head, watching as his hand leaves the steering wheel and lands on his thigh, fingers spread out over his knee as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said before, about being able to get into any college I wanted just because I’m... well, _me_ , and I’ve always taken it for granted. It’s unfair, especially to people who work hard their whole lives for it. Like you.”

She arches an eyebrow at him, not really understanding his point. “Okay?”

“I mean, if I go to college it should be because I earned it, not because my parents decided they wanted a library named after them. I never really thought about that before, but then you brought it up and it made me feel terrible that I was sort of rubbing my privilege in your face, you know?”

Nothing about what he’s saying is making any sense. He’s thinking about college? Because of something she said in the heat of the moment when she’d been annoyed with him? She tucks stray lock of hair behind her ear and speaks slowly.

“You’re telling me that at some point between this afternoon and now, you’ve changed your mind about college? Oliver, just last week you were saying school doesn’t matter in the real world and everything about college sucks -”

He interrupts her with a shake of his head. “But it would suck a lot less if you were there too.”

A swooping sensation settles in her stomach, and she’s filled with a strange, tingly feeling that she can’t - or doesn’t want to, the voice in her head corrects - acknowledge. It sounds like he’s actually given this whole going to college with her idea a lot of thought, and she doesn’t know how to process it.

“Oliver, what are you saying?”

He turns briefly to her and grins. “Think about it. If we both end up in Boston, you at M.I.T, me at whatever college will accept me, it’ll make the whole experience so much more fun. I’d go first, of course, and scout out all the cool places to hang out. And when you get there, it’ll be like you already know the place.”

She takes in the way he’s grinning at he with muted excitement, her own forehead crinkling with confusion because she can’t quite believe she’s hearing this from _him_.

“You... want to go to Boston with me?”

“Yes, Felicity, that’s what I’ve been saying, keep up,” he huffs. “You’ll probably graduate high school early anyway, so it’s not like I’ll be there on my own for long. And maybe we can even get a place together and we can be roomates... and have house parties every weekend?”

He shoots her a scandalous look, expecting a rise out of her, but Felicity’s still stuck on the fact that they’re even having this discussion in the first place that she’s having trouble registering a lot of what he’s saying.

She never thought that their friendship would extend past her summers in Starling City, but he’s... what? Planning some sort of vague future for the two of them like they’re still going to be friends after he leaves for college?

And what about Laurel? Or Tommy, who is just as averse to the idea of college as Oliver had been?

Her brain is short-circuiting and she’s thinking that maybe he’d been right about her being too young to be thinking about college, because _all of this_ is overwhelming and completely out of the blue and because her brain isn’t quite working at full capacity, she hears herself blurting out, “Can you even _get_ into college on your own?”

Her cheeks flush and she’s again, overcome with embarrassment and she starts to backtrack and apologise but Oliver just laughs. A big, hearty laugh that fills up the entire space in his car and just like that, the the vice grip around her heart loosens and her head clears, the million and one thoughts silenced temporarily.

“Wow, rude,” Oliver wheezes in between bouts of laughter. “Maybe I’ll just turn around and take you back instead of showing you your surprise.”

She pokes him in his side, hard, scowling. “We’ve been in this car for ages, you better not turn around, you jerk. And you know it’s a legitimate question.”

He hums in delight, still smirking. “Well, I was supposed to meet with the school counselor last week to discuss entry requirements and all of that, but I missed it -”

“Of course you did.”

“- but I know someone who can um,” He casts her a sidelong glance. “Hack into appointment calendars and reschedule these sort of things for me with her eyes closed.”

She lets out an indignant hiss when she catches on to what he’s asking, and then shakes her head. “No. Reschedule it yourself. Like a normal person.”

“Well, I can’t, because I’ve missed like three already and I’m kind of on her shit list right now. Come on, I’m not asking you to get me into college. Just... to get me into a meeting that will help me get into college.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her comically, looking utterly ridiculous and adorable at the same time.

But adorable - when did she start thinking about him as _adorable_? -  as he is, she’s not hacking into his school’s servers for him. “That’s violating all sorts of privacy laws and I’m too young to go to jail. I won’t do it.”

“Right, maybe you’ll change your mind after this. Come on, we’re here.”

He’s already killing the engine and climbing out of the car, so she doesn’t get a chance to ask him what makes him so confident that she will.

“Come on, come on,” he urges as he pulls her door open and holds out a hand to help her out.

It’s only then that she notices where they are. She’d been so preoccupied with the emotionally charged, mind-numbingly confusing conversation in the car that she hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going.

He’s parked in a quiet clearing on top of hill, looking down over a breathtaking view of Starling City at night. The city lights twinkle in the dark, a sea of rainbow colours glowing below them. There’s a slight breeze and it brings with it the fresh scent of pine trees and grass and Felicity’s never felt more at peace.

“Oliver, this is beautiful,” she whispers breathlessly. Her hand closes in around his, tugging him along so he’s standing with her at the edge of the hill. “It’s so pretty.”

Oliver’s a solid presence next to her, still silent, but she doesn’t mind. She feels his fingers tighten around hers but she can’t bear to take her eyes off the view. Instead, she lists into his side, resting her head along the side of his arm.

“Look up, Felicity.”

She almost doesn’t hear him, so entranced by the view, but his words register eventually and she turns her chin up to look at him.

“Not at _me,_ ” he chuckles. Then he brings their hands, still clasped together, up over his head. “At the sky.”

The sight before her is unreal.

A thousand stars litter the inky black sky, winking in and out as she swivels her head trying to take all of the magnificence in. And then she gasps, raising a hand to her heart as she realises what she’s witnessing.

“Oliver - that’s...” She trails off, distracted, falling against Oliver as her head tilts back, following the path of the comet that’s streaking across the sky.

“You were so disappointed you weren’t going to be able to see the comet from Starling because of the city lights, so I thought you’d get a better view from up here,” Oliver murmurs over her head.

She can’t speak, her heart is in her throat, and she’s about ninety percent sure she’s going to cry because this - this is hands down the most amazing, sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for her in her entire life.

The comet disappears from view and whirls around to fling her arms around his neck, stretching up on her toes to hug him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeats, her voice muffled against his shirt. She grabs fistfuls of his shirt at his back, pressing in even closer to him, trying to convey the entirety of her gratitude and appreciation in a single hug.

He lifts a hand to cup the back of her head, fingers soothing as they card through her hair, the other winding around her waist to hold her close.

“See, told you you’d love it,” he says, but without a trace of the cockiness she’s come to associate with him.

She nods wordlessly, her cheek squished against the solid wall of his upper body. It occurs to her that this is the most physical contact she’s shared with him, ever, but strangely enough, it doesn’t feel awkward at all.

In that moment, with his arms around her holding her tight, basking in the comfortable silence blanketing them, she thinks that maybe having him around for college - as many years away as that may still be - isn’t such a bad idea after all.

She makes her decision then, throwing caution to the wind.

How hard can hacking into a high school counselor’s appointment calendar be anyway?

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying these little insights into their past! Comments much appreciated! 
> 
> Twitter: @estheryam


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Smoak Technologies and Queen Consolidated flirt with the idea of a merger, their respective C.E.Os try very hard not to flirt in general.

If there’s anything Felicity hates more than being in a meeting she doesn’t want to be in, it’s being in one she doesn’t want to be in for longer than she has to. And since this particular meeting hasn’t even started yet, she’s more than sure that it’s going to be long, which means she’s going to have to push back her conference call with her team back in Silicon Valley _again_.

She scowls. What a brilliant way to start her day.

She’d sent Curtis back to San Francisco after their meeting with A.R.G.U.S. so that he could update their team about their new project so she’s taking this meeting with Oliver alone, despite a tiny part of her that’s screaming about how this is a Really. Bad. Idea. 

But Director Michaels had made it clear that she wouldn’t sign off on the contract unless Smoak Technologies and Queen Consolidated came to an agreement about sharing resources so here she is, with all her walls up, armour at the ready, prepared to fight whatever charm Oliver plans to use on her to get his way. 

She’s not the same naive girl she was before he disappeared. She knows better now. 

“Any word yet?” she asks his assistant for the third time since walking in, making no effort to hide the disapproval in her voice. The poor girl looks completely overwhelmed and doesn’t meet her eyes when she shakes her head. 

Felicity grunts with displeasure as she unlocks her phone, frowning at the time - he’s now _twenty_ minutes late - then resumes pacing in front of Oliver’s office door.

The door that used to lead to the late Robert Queen’s office, she realises with a start.

Oliver’s dad, who despite her frequent visits to Starling in her youth, she never really knew. What little she did know of him was that he was a ruthless businessman, one of the most hardworking and successful C.E.Os of his day, which unfortunately for him, didn’t really leave much room for him to an attentive father. 

And there it is again, another slice of her past rearing its head unwittingly, something that’s been happening a lot more than she’d like in the three days she’s been in Starling City. Clenching her jaw, she shakes her head and pushes the stray thought aside. It’s really, really becoming inconvenient having her subconscious constantly remind her of the time she spent here before her self-imposed exile and she doesn’t like it.

She doesn’t want the memories, doesn’t want the warm, familiar feeling of _home_ that’s starting to settle dangerously in her soul. It would be so easy to just forget everything and _fall_ all over again.

With the city, she clarifies to herself - because she’s not... there’s _nothing_ \- no _one_ else to fall for, of course.

It feels like all the work she’s put into moving on and finding closure from _that_ chapter of her life is slowly unraveling at the seams despite her best efforts and _god_ , she really would just like to get this dumb meeting over with so she can go back to pretending she’s fine and not at all affected by Oliver’s untimely reemergence in her life. 

“Hi, Felicity, I’m sorry for the delay. He’s on his way.” 

Startled at the voice, she turns around and lets out a barely audible gasp when she realises it belongs to Laurel. Laurel Lance, still every bit as beautiful and elegant and poised as she remembers, who apparently now works for Queen Consolidated, most likely as their in-house counsel. 

She shouldn’t be surprised. Laurel had been there at that night at Starling Grand too. Wherever Oliver is, she’s usually not too far behind. It’s always been that way ever since they were children. Circling like sharks around each other, always looking for blood. 

A totally accurate representation of their tumultuous relationship, in her _very_ humble opinion. She has to bite her tongue to keep from chuckling at her own silly joke.

“Laurel,” Felicity greets, holding out a hand to the other woman, lips curving up in a mostly-sincere smile. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

They shake hands, and an undercurrent of something not unpleasant, but not exactly _friendly_ either passes between them that sends an uncomfortable tremor down Felicity’s spine. 

“You too, Felicity. It’s been a while.” 

A while, yes. Almost six years since they last spoke. Five years and six months since Laurel appeared at the door of her dorm room - for the first time, _ever_ , despite having been in Boston together for an entire year - distraught and barely coherent, asking if she’s seen the news that morning. 

Felicity doesn’t remember much after that visit, except that her entire world had been blown apart and turned inside out and she’d been left with nothing but bittersweet memories of a boy she maybe had been in love with, a whole lot of what-ifs, could-have-beens and what was most definitely a broken heart. 

She stops herself from going down that track before she starts spiraling, and gives Laurel a curt nod. “Yes, definitely far too long.” 

If the other woman notices her uneasiness, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she squares her shoulders and tilts her chin towards Oliver’s office. “Let’s take a seat inside, I promise he’ll be here soon.” 

They walk into his office, Laurel holding the door open for her as she steps in. Felicity murmurs a quiet thank you as her eyes wander over the space. 

She remembers Oliver’s room at the mansion, where the walls had been decorated, at first, with posters of the Starling City Rockets and his favourite bands, but were later replaced by - much to her distaste - pictures of women in various states of undress.

A stark difference from the sleek and modern setup in this office, devoid of any personal items except a framed portrait of the Queen family hanging behind the desk. It’s nice, but not... quite what she’d expected. 

The door swings open again and her gaze lands on Oliver, who once again, is really rocking his suit, walking in like he’s _not_ almost half an hour late to a meeting that _he_ had scheduled. 

She’s about to give him an earful about making her wait, but then she notices a misshapen, purpling bruise along his jaw and - crap - is his eye... _Swollen?_  

“What’s wrong with your _face?_ ” she gasps, heels echoing noisily against the tiles as she scrambles up to him. Her hand reaches out to his face on autopilot, but she pulls it back at the very last second remembering that she’s meant to be _annoyed_ at him, not concerned. 

“I mean, that looks pretty bad. What did you do to yourself?”   

“I’m fine, Felicity,” Oliver tells her, but the slight grimace on his face when he attempts to give her what he probably thinks is a reassuring smile indicates otherwise. He clears his throat. “I fell. That’s all.” 

Her eyebrows lift, head tilting to the side, scrutinising. 

“And you broke your fall with your face?” 

“I... I was in a bad neighbourhood. Lots of potholes. I tripped.” 

He meets her stare of disbelief bravely, his eyes never leaving hers like he’s daring her to call him out on his very terrible lie. And then the corner of his mouth curls up in a hint of a smile and her own traitorous lips follow suit. 

A bubble of laughter forms in her chest and she bites her lip to suppress it. They used to do this all the time when they were younger, staring at each other until one of them caves and bursts out laughing, usually when they’re fighting over the last of Raisa’s cookies - he’s never won against her.

"Okay, enough of that.” 

Laurel’s biting voice causes them both whip their heads around to face her apologetically. She merely rolls her eyes at them. “If you two are done, can we get this started? We’re already running behind schedule.”

* * *

It only takes half an hour for the mood in the office to deteriorate. 

“How exactly, Oliver, did you think I would agree to this?” she hisses at him, a perfectly-manicured fingernail underscoring a term in the page they’re looking over.

“A fifty - fifty ownership, _and_ naming rights? One, no way will I allow someone who gave his little sister the nickname ‘ _Speedy'_  to name _my_ technology. Two, my share in this is seventy percent. No less.”   

“Seventy? Felicity, be reasonable here, you’re -” 

“Let me reiterate. It’s _my_ tech that A.R.G.U.S wants. My blueprints, my team of people. Without me, all you have is a whole lot of -” 

“Space. Resources. Money.” Laurel interjects. “You get their world class labs. QC’s expert researchers and engineers are the ones who can bring your tech to life. Your company is still a startup, all things considered, and QC will help you get the recognition you want. I think that warrants at least a fifty percent stake don’t you think?” Laurel counters as she leans back into her chair, arms crossed over her chest. 

Felicity glares at Laurel, hackles rising. How _dare_ she? What does she know about any of this, anyway? Very little, if the contract is anything to go by. The voice in her head whispers a snide ‘I told you so’ as she instantly regrets giving Queen Consolidated the benefit of the doubt and trusting them to draw up the first draft of the contract. 

She slams her palm over the bundle of paper, then makes a show of sliding the insulting document back at Laurel, watching with satisfaction as her jaw drops. 

“No. I _don’t_ think. My lawyer might not be here right now, but I know a thing or two about protecting my intellectual property and I sure as hell am not going to let you bully me into settling for something less than what I’m - _my company_ \- is worth. We both know I can take my tech to Gotham, or hell, back to San Francisco and get exactly what your company is offering me.” 

She lets her words linger between them, feeling a little smug because the moment she mentioned rescinding their tentative agreement, Oliver turned a few shades whiter like he’s starting to get nervous. 

Good. Let him sweat it out a little.

He’s rubs his hands together then glances at Laurel for a quick second before clearing his throat. His voice drops and he leans forward on his elbows, effectively excluding Laurel from the conversation. 

“Please don’t leave Starling.” 

She rocks back in her seat. Okay, not quite what she’s expecting. 

Her dumb, stupid, heart skips a beat - or a few - because it sounds like he’s asking her not to leave _him_ and she has to grip the edge of the table so she doesn’t completely fall off her chair. “I’m sorry, excuse me?”

“I’m new at this whole... running a business thing, but even I know that working with you and your company is not something Queen Consolidated should pass on,” he says, somewhat haltingly, choosing his words very carefully. “Not something... _I_ should pass on.” 

Felicity sucks in a shaky breath as she let the implication of his words sink in. She’s knows she’s been doing an absolutely terrible job of compartmentalising her rollercoaster of emotions for the entirety of the meeting, but this? The way he’s pleading with her like she’s a drowning man’s last gasp of air? It’s a huge blow to the carefully constructed walls around her heart and she won’t be able to withstand much more if he keeps looking at her like that.

Like she’s the only person in the room. 

“Well.” She uncrosses, then crosses her legs again. Tries to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Like I said, seventy percent. Naming rights. Complete autonomy on the development of the project.” 

Oliver holds her gaze and very slowly nods his head. Laurel makes a noise next to him in protest, but whatever she wants to say dies in her throat when Oliver silences her with a pointed look. 

Hah. Take that, Laurel.

“If that’s what it takes for you to stay here and not go to -” Oliver wrinkles his nose. “- Wayne Enterprises. Then fine. On one condition.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, but indicates  for him to keep talking. 

“You work here. In this building. You can have an office, two offices if you need to bring your partner in as well. You’ll have full access to our research labs and personnel, but you work here, with us. 

All things considered, it’s not an unreasonable request. She can’t see herself constantly flying back and forth from Silicon Valley to oversee this project. Renting office space anywhere in Starling City for the six months, on top of finding somewhere to live that isn’t the size of a closet in the Glades will drain her accounts so quick she really should just accept the offer right there.

 But it also means working _here_ again. With Oliver. 

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, weighing her choices. Don’t accept, and prepare for even more arguing which may end up with them losing the A.R.G.U.S job entirely, or accept it and figure out how to deal with her slightly irrational, Oliver sized issues later. 

A rush of air escapes her lungs and she makes her decision, muting the cacophony of warning bells going off in her head. 

“Done. But this time, _my_ people are drawing up the contract,” she says, mostly to Laurel, who looks very affronted by everything that’s happening before her. 

“That’s fine with me.” There’s a glint of what seems to be relief  in Oliver’s eyes, and a small part of her - very minuscule, microscopic even - feels a like their working together might end up being a good thing. 

“I guess that means we’re done here,” Laurel states as she stands up, packing away the bits of paper scattered over Oliver’s desk, effectively calling an end to their meeting. She tilts her head at Felicity. “Can I expect your lawyer to send me a new contract to look over soon?” 

She nods and pushes her chair back, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands. They shake hands and Laurel makes a hasty exit, leaving her alone with Oliver. But unlike her, looks very pleased about it. 

Ah, crap. Time to go. 

She backs away from him, with an apologetic smile on her face. “I have to run - gotta update my team about our agreement... and other stuff. Important stuff. I probably need to discuss some sort of work-away arrangement with H.R. and I have to -” 

“ _Felicity_.”

She’ll give him credit for not coming any closer. She can see that he wants to, his fingers twitching by his thighs. He licks his lips, then raises a hand to brush along the edge of his bruised - okay, that’s going to bother her for a while - jaw. 

He takes a deep breath. “Can we talk?” 

“Uh, Like I said, I’ve got to make a few calls -” 

“You’ve been avoiding me, I know, and I... I suppose I get it. But I’d like to.” He rolls his shoulders, his neck cracks and he blinks hopefully at her. “Talk, I mean. I’d like to talk.” 

She shakes her head vehemently, and almost instantly his face falls and the light dims in his eyes. She grips the strap of her handbag so tightly she’s sure her knuckles are turning white. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” she manages to say in an almost steady voice. “We should keep this... strictly professional. It’s for the best, for me.”     

She gives him one last look, then turns away abruptly to flee from the near suffocating tension in the room. 

“Felicity, wait,” he tries again, but she already has a hand over the doorknob, twisting it like her life depends on it. 

Flinging the door open to the face of his bewildered assistant, she whispers a quiet “I’m sorry, Oliver,” before she steps out and shuts the door firmly behind her.

* * *

 

**2005**

 Felicity chews on her bottom lip as she considers her reflection in the mirror. 

Her hair falls in loose curly waves down her shoulder, and she absentmindedly runs her hand through it, wondering if it’s time for a haircut. She’s used some eyeliner tonight because for once, she’s ditching her glasses for contact lenses. A swipe of pink gloss over her lips. Cute, red tank top under a faux leather jacket. Skinny jeans. 

She looks good. Maybe not drop dead gorgeous, but she knows she’s pretty, and red is a good colour on her. Plus, she’s going to wear the amazing gold strappy heels her mother got her for her birthday so at least she’ll be taller and it’ll be less awkward if she ends up... hm. 

She stills at the thought and her stomach swoops, even though she knows it’s dumb. It’s not like she’s never been kissed and it’s not like she’s going on a _date_ or anything. It’s just dinner. 

With a boy.

With Barry Allen, to be exact. One of the boys she’d met in Starling City during her final summer of the Tech Program before heading off to M.I.T. He’s smart and funny, and equally dorky as she is so she never felt awkward around him. He’d been so sweet to her all summer, and with Oliver away at college, she’d welcomed Barry’s easy, unassuming friendship with open arms. 

They’d kept in touch after the program ended, and when he told her he was visiting Vegas for a couple of weeks with his family, she’d jumped at the idea of hanging out with him again. 

So it’s not a date. She’s just catching up with an old friend, that’s all. Absolutely no reason to be nervous. 

Except that she thinks she has a crush on him. Okay, she’s about _sixty_ percent sure she has a crush on him, but it could just be that she’s been starved of intellectual conversation for so long that she’s projecting. 

It could also be because she’s trying to distract herself from the _other_ crush that she _one hundred percent_ knows has on a certain boy who she also met in Starling City. 

It’s something that she’s been trying to ignore for a very long time and quite successfully too. But after his last trip out to Vegas when he spent a whole week with her after she had her wisdom teeth extracted, she’s fully accepted that she’s harbouring a slew of very un-platonic feelings for Oliver. 

Plus, it didn’t help that he’s been working out _a lot_ since he started college, so he’s all bulky and muscular now, which only further fuels her dumb infatuation with him and _guh_. 

“Stop it, Felicity,” she chastises her reflection. Oliver’s so way out of her league she’s not even in the same galaxy as the girls he’s far more used to dating. 

Barry on the other hand, she knows she has a chance with. 

In any case, she decides with a sigh, sixty percent crush or not, even if all she gets out of it is a good meal and great conversation, it’s going to be a good night. 

Her phone buzzes on her nightstand and she grabs it, assuming its Barry texting her he’s come to pick her up. She slips it into her bag without looking and gives herself a once over in the mirror as she hears a rapid knocking against the front door.

Her mother’s voice floats towards her as she’s halfway to her front door. “Honey, someone's at the door!” 

“I’m coming, mom,” she yells back, hopping on one foot as she pulls on her heels. “One sec, I’ll get it!” 

But her mother’s already opening the door and Felicity starts to panic a little because Donna Smoak doesn’t have any boundaries and _God_ if she scares Barry away tonight... Felicity muscles her way past her mother to intercept any sort of interaction between the two, but comes to an abrupt stop, mouth falling open because the person on the other side of the threshold is very decidedly _not_ Barry. 

“ _Oliver?_ ”

She didn’t summon him here just by thinking about him... _did she?_  

Donna’s pushing against her back, trying to look past her shoulders. “Baby, didn’t you you say you were going out with Barry?” 

Felicity nudges her mother backwards, ignoring her indignant huff as she twists around and pulls the door shut between them. Then she turns back to Oliver, hands on her hips, a million questions on the tip of her tongue. But she takes one look at him and she snaps her mouth shut. 

Dark circles ring his eyes, and he’s sporting patchy stubble along his jaw, looking more unkept than she’d ever seen in all the years she’s known him. His shirt is rumpled and creased like he’d slept in it all day, and his hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. 

She feels a chill go through her veins that has nothing to do with the cool night air. 

 _He’s not okay._  

“Äh. You... have a date,” he says haltingly, licking his lips, the blue in his eyes bright and piercing. “I’m sorry, I should have... I’m just gonna...”

His shoulders slump forward. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and clasps them together, inching away from the door. He plasters an all too fake smile on his face, then points his thumb to a vague spot behind him. “I’m going to go.” 

“No, Oliver, _wait!_ ” 

Finally coming to her senses, Felicity unfreezes from her spot at her front door and lunges forward, stretching her hand out so her fingers curl around his forearm. She nearly trips, but Oliver’s quick reflexes catch her by her elbows, steadying her as he fixes her with a tired, but amused smirk. 

“Don’t hurt yourself falling for me, Felicity,” he murmurs. It’s a really strange thing for him to say and his words lack the familiar teasing tone she’s come to associate with him so she can’t even chalk it up to him harmlessly flirting with her. Something dark and sad glimmers in his eyes and it sets off the warning bells in Felicity’s head. 

Straightening up, she shrugs out of his grasp, trailing her hand down the length of his arm, tangling her fingers with his. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

He blinks at her for a moment and she can see that he’s waging an internal war with himself. Eventually, he pulls his hand out of hers and shakes his head, his lips quirking up into a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Nothing’s wrong and I don’t want to keep you from your date. I’ll come by again tomorrow.” 

“ _Nothing’s wrong_ , my ass. You know you’ve never been able to lie to me, Oliver.” 

She lets out a frustrated breath, holding out a finger to silence whatever protest is on the tip of his tongue as she uses her other hand to dig her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.

She remembers the text message she’d left unread before and quickly checks it. _‘Just a little late, sorry!’_. She rolls her eyes at the message - she should have expected this - and shoots off a quick reply before shoving the phone back into her pocket. 

Fixing him with a steady glare, she folds her arms over her chest. “‘Kay, we’re good. Now tell me why you’re here and not studying for your finals.” 

He holds her gaze for a long moment, and then breathes out, long and slow.  His voice cracks with emotion when he finally answers her. 

“I just really needed to see you, okay?” 

 _Whoa._  

Her eyes widen at his confession and her traitorous heart flutters with muted excitement. Frowning, she pushes that feeling down and away immediately, because hello, as flattering as the implication is, so _not_ the time. 

A knot of unease forms at the base of her stomach because despite how uncharacteristically vulnerable his words were, he doesn’t look affected by what he’s just said. Which is downright unnerving because he’s _Oliver_ and she’s never seen him this subdued and _sad_ before. 

Sure, it’s been a few months since his last visit, but they talk on the phone all the time and not once had he indicated that he was in any sort of trouble. 

In fact, the last time they spoke, he’d been very excited about almost being done with college for the semester and attempting to convince her to go on vacation with him and his friends to Hawaii. 

That had been two days ago. 

What in the world could have happened in the last two days that could have ended up with him traveling halfway across the country just because he ‘n _eeded to see her_ ’? 

Oliver places a hand over her shoulder, squeezing once gently and she blinks, stumbling back into the present.

She senses a slight uptick in his mood when he smiles at her, warm and genuine. Whether it’s because she’s cancelled on Barry, or if he’s just amused that he’s blindsided her with his appearance, she doesn’t know. But his affectionate smirk is back and she finds herself heaving a sigh of relief when he takes her hand in his and drags her away from her house. 

“I’ll tell you everything but can we... can we go somewhere else?” Oliver asks.  “Your mother is watching us from your window. I have a car.” 

 _Of course_ she is. Felicity twists around, eyes narrowed, but by then her mother’s gone and all that’s left is the telling flutter of the curtain against the window panes. And then she replays his words in her head and she slaps the back of her palm against his chest in exasperation. 

“You drove all the way here from _Boston?_ ” She’s peeved, and not at all sorry when he flinches at her tone. “Because that’s incredibly stupid, Oliver. You look like you haven’t slept in days and driving for hours on no sleep is dangerous and I know you -"

“Felicity, stop.” He interrupts her tirade tersely, making her mouth snap shut immediately. So maybe his mood _hasn’t_ improved at all. 

The troubling feeling in her chest returns in full force, and even though he’s just snapped her, suddenly all she wants to do is pull him into a big hug and wipe the frown off his face. But she’s not sure if he’s receptive to hugs right now, or any words of comfort for that matter, so she just wraps her arms around herself, fists pressing into her ribcage, and waits him out.   

Sensing that he’s upset her, Oliver drags a hand down his face, sighing. “I flew in, then got a rental. I only drove from the airport, if that makes you feel better.” 

Felicity nods stiffly and holds out a hand to him. “Okay, fine. Give me the keys, Oliver. I’ll drive. You talk.” 

He arches an eyebrow at her. “You just got your license.”  

“Which, wow, wouldn’t you know, means I can drive.” She deadpans, daring him to contradict her. When he doesn’t, she wiggles her fingers in front of his face. “Hand them over.”

* * *

She decides to take him out into the desert, figuring that being away from the harsh lights and the general noise of Vegas will help solve whatever inner turmoil he’s battling with. 

He doesn’t mess with the stereo like she does when she’s the one in the passenger seat, so for a long while, the soundtrack to their tense, and slightly awkward drive is the subtle hum of the car engine around them. 

Felicity sneaks a few glances at him as she steers them further away from the city, dying to ask him to talk to her, but respecting that she needs to give him time. She can count on one hand the number of times Oliver’s voluntarily shared his feelings with her, so she understands that he’s probably still trying to sort himself out before giving her an explanation. 

Eventually, just as they leave the last of the Vegas lights behind them and they’re blanketed in darkness, Oliver groans and mutters something under his breath. 

“Wanna say that again?” Felicity coaxes, trying not to sound too pushy. 

She sees him grimace in her peripheral vision, and then he turns away and looks out the window. 

“I cheated on Laurel.” 

A rush of air escapes from her lungs. 

Her fingers clench around the steering wheel and she sucks in a steady breath. She sets aside her own feelings about Laurel and keeps her voice even, even as the distaste for his confession starts coiling in her stomach.

“Again, Oliver?” 

Oliver grunts, and then lets out a short laugh tinged with bitter self-deprecation. “Yeah, again. Typical, huh?” 

Felicity purses her lips. His various romantic entanglements have never been a secret between them and she’s always been vocal about not being a fan of how he conducts himself in his relationships. But something about the way he’s acting tonight makes this one feel a lot different from all his other indiscretions and she wants to know why. 

“Okay,” she says slowly, trying not to sound too judgmental. “but you’ve... you guys have come back from this sort of thing before, many times, in fact. What’s different now that you had to come all the way over here?” 

“I slept with _Sara_.” 

Her foot slams on the brakes so hard that the tyres screech loudly beneath the car, sending both of them jerking forward in their seats. Felicity strong-arms the car onto the side of the road and puts it in park. 

“ _Oliver!_ ” 

“Yeah.” 

“Not, _yeah_ ,” she yells angrily. She pokes him in his side, hard. “Her sister! Her _sister_ , Oliver! How could you?” 

“It’s not like I’m _proud_ of it, Felicity,” he responds, equally loudly, frowning at her, his eyes blazing. “I fucked up, I was being stupid and I know I fucked everything up and I just...” 

He doesn’t continue, so Felicity unbuckles her seat belt and turns to him fully, tucking her legs under her. She inhales, and then in a more civil tone, asks him, “Tell me what happened?” 

He blinks at her. “Huh?” 

“Something must have happened between you and Laurel, right? That’s usually how it starts.” 

Oliver sighs, and then to her surprise he turns away from her and presses his forehead against the window. “S’not important.” 

“Of course it’s important,” she argues. “Important enough to make you want to drive all the way here to see me.” 

Oliver’s breath fogs up the window and he lifts a finger to draw an ‘O’ on the window. Then an ‘F’, and then he wipes the letters away and he clears his throat. “She wanted us to move in together. Next year.” 

“And... you said no then got into a fight about it?” she prods. Because that would totally make sense. It’s not the first time Oliver’s balked at the idea of a long term, moving in kind of commitment and she’s sure it isn’t going to be his last. 

“Not quite.” 

She cocks her head at Oliver as he turns back to face her.   

“I uh,” he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, sheepish. “I told her that I couldn’t move in with her, and she wasn’t happy about it, yeah, but then I told her it’s because _you_ were starting at M.I.T next year and _you and I_ were going to be roommates and -” 

The sound  that comes out of her mouth is inhuman. _“What?!”_

Oliver’s hands fly to his ears at her shriek of disbelief and he pushes himself against the door and then he’s climbing out like he’s trying to escape her wrath. 

Too bad he has nowhere else to go. 

“ _Oliver Jonas Queen!_ ”

 Felicity scrambles out after him, not about to let him get away without explaining just how he can be such a completely stupid, idiotic, _asshole_ of a boy. Stalking around the front of the car, she comes up to him and shoves him angrily against his chest. 

“You told your _girlfriend_ you didn’t want to move in with her because you wanted to move in with _me!?_ ” She’s sure the entirety of Las Vegas can hear her by now, but honestly, she doesn’t give a damn. Let them hear just how much an idiot Oliver Queen is. 

“But that’s always been our plan!” he protests, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering, and then he takes a step back and repeats himself. “It’s been our plan for two years, Felicity!” 

“God, Oliver,” she groans, even though she knows how absurd it sounds, she knows what he’s saying is true. 

They’ve talked about it in the passing, living together once she got to M.I.T., but always under the assumption that he’s just joking with her, and never had it occurred to her that he would really want to go through with it. 

And now he’s looking at her with hopeless confusion in his eyes, like he doesn’t get why she’s making a fuss out of it. Her anger at his idiocy dissipates slowly into the air around them and there’s a warm, fuzzy sensation creeping around her heart at the fact that he’d been serious enough about their plans to jeopardise his already fragile relationship with his girlfriend.

“You’re such a _boy_ ,” Felicity rubs her hands over her face as she leans back against the car, shutting her eyes. “She is - _was?_ \- your girlfriend, Oliver. You can’t just tell your girlfriend you won’t move in with her because you want to move in another girl. Do you know how bad that sounds?” 

“Well, I realise that _now_.”  

 She cracks open an eye and waves her hand at him. “So. How did all of that lead to you banging Sara?”

Oliver winces at her crass language, but really, considering the situation, she thinks it’s appropriate. He shuffles forward, then turns around so he’s leaning against the side of the car as well, right next to her, bumping into her shoulder. 

“We fought. She threw some things at me, I told her she was being dramatic, and then she made me choose. You or her. She gave me a goddamn ridiculous ultimatum and I knew it was her way of punishing me for trying to keep my promise to you.” 

“Oh, _Oliver_.” 

“I was so _angry_ , Felicity. She knows... she knows who you are to me, and she had the audacity to make me choose? It wasn’t like I was saying I wanted to break up with her! I just didn’t want to _move in_ with her! So I just left and went over to Tommy’s, who was having this end of semester party and... Sara was there I wanted, _stupidly_ , to -” 

“You wanted to punish Laurel too.” 

It’s a testament to how well she knows him that she actually kind of... _gets it_ , as stupid as his decisions were. She knows how he thinks - always leading with his heart rather than with his head, impulsive and spontaneous, and more often than not resulting in a world of regrets for everyone involved. 

He turns to her, a shadow of surprise fluttering over his features before he nods slowly. 

“Yeah... Laurel found out because Tommy can’t keep his mouth shut and a lot of things were said - _shouted_ actually - most of which I deserved, a hundred percent. But then... she said that I’m just going to hurt and ruin _you_ , that our friendship will be your downfall because I’m selfish and a horrible person and that I destroy everything around me and I...” 

He tilts his head back and exhales, eventually turning to give her a startlingly sombre look. “I just needed to see it for myself. That I haven’t... _destroyed_ you.” 

 _Destroyed_ her? 

What in the actual... Rage bubbles under her skin and God, she’s doesn't think can dislike Laurel more than she does in that single moment. She’s still processing the sheer absurdity of his statement when he speaks again, quietly, and he makes a point to _not_ look at her. 

“She’s right though, isn’t she?” Oliver murmurs, filling the awkward silence between them. “I dragged you out here, instead of letting you go on your date.” He growls under his breath. “Ruined your night because I wanted to prove that there’s still something in my life I haven't fucked up and I didn’t even _think_ about -”   

Oh, _hell_ no. 

She’s not standing for this. Laurel goddamn Lance doesn’t get to decide whether or not Oliver’s good or bad for her.  

Throwing her earlier caution aside, she crushes herself to him, her arms winding around his neck tightly as she presses her cheek into the hollow of his neck. 

“Shut up, Oliver,” she whispers angrily, her lips ghosting over the skin of his collar bone. Her heart stutters when she realises she can taste him - but this - this isn’t about her and her dumb, unrequited crush on her best friend. “You didn’t ruin anything. It wasn’t a date.” 

“You look too pretty for it not to be a date,” he argues petulantly. 

For a second, she allows herself to appreciate the compliment and then shakes her head. “It really wasn’t.” 

She can feel his him place his hands tentatively around her waist, like he’s scared to give into her embrace. But she only tightens her hold on him and after a beat, finally returns her hug. 

He rests his cheek against her temple as he rubs lazy circles against her back. 

“Okay so maybe it wasn’t a date, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s right and I’m a terrible person.”

She lets out a silent groan of frustration at how much Laurel’s words seem to have affected him and she desperately wants to tell him that she’s wrong. That he hasn’t destroyed or ruined her - he’s never even come close. In fact, their friendship over the years has been the one thing she can consistently rely on. The only relationship she’s had that hasn’t ended up in disappointment. 

He makes her laugh and whenever they’re together, she takes herself less seriously and he’s just _fun_ to be around. He doesn’t think her babbling is annoying, doesn’t mock her intelligence like everyone at school does, doesn’t talk down to her just because she’s younger than him. And more recently, every time she thinks of him, there’s a warm tingly feeling that spreads through her veins that makes her feel stupidly happy.   

She wants to tell him all of that, but the words get caught in her throat. Besides, he’ll probably figure out that she’s crushing on him so hard and it’ll make things weird and awkward between them. So once she collects herself, she sighs and tilts her head away from him so she can look him in the eyes. She chooses her words carefully.

“You’re not a terrible person. You make terrible decisions, sure, and sometimes the lines are so blurry, people who don’t know you get really confused. But I know you. And you’re a good person, Oliver. A good friend, a good brother. No one can tell me otherwise. I know you won’t hurt or ruin or destroy me. And since I’m me, and Laurel isn’t, I think my opinion counts more than hers, don’t you?”

It barely scratches the surface of what he means to her, but she hopes it does enough to shake him out of this weird funk he’s in. Eventually, much to her relief, his lips curl up into a small smile and he nods imperceptibly. Almost like she’s given him exactly what he needed from her. 

It makes her feel good. 

“I guess it does,” he acquiesces, before pulling his arms tighter around her so they’re hugging again. His fingers card through her hair and he presses his lips against her forehead in a chaste kiss. When he releases her, his touch lingers on her skin and she knows it’s a sensation she’ll remember for a long time to come. They both take a step back from each other, their quiet moment clearly over. 

He kicks at the ground under his feet, sending dust and sand swirling into the air. “Can you promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t, um...” He clears his throat, then stares at her with pleading, piercing blue eyes. “Don’t end up with someone like me okay? Don’t... fall in love with someone like me.” 

 _Wow._  

Felicity’s fingers go numb her heart clenches like someone’s squeezing all the air out of her body. 

She thinks that maybe this is what heartbreak feels like.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this wasn't too long of a chapter! Comments and thoughts much appreciated :) 
> 
> Holla at me on Twitter: @estheryam


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one door closes, another opens.

Her new office is _nice_.

Like, sun streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows, giant mahogany desk, and dazzling, shiny tiles on the floor, nice. She’s not sure how she feels about her glass walls yet, but seeing as how the only other office in her floor is Oliver’s, she doesn’t think it’s going to be much of an issue. 

Other than the fact that well. _Oliver._  

But that’s a problem for another day. The fact remains that the office is so much more than what she expected when Oliver insisted she set up shop in Queen Consolidated, but no way is she going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Her assistant - is his name Mark? Matt? - walks in carrying a few folders, quickly depositing them on the desk. “These are the handbooks you requested, and if you need anything else, Ms. Smoak, please let me know. Mr. Queen was very clear about you getting exactly everything you need to so you can work comfortably.” 

 _Ha_. 

If he _really_ wanted her to be comfortable, he wouldn’t have suggested that she stay in Starling, constantly feeling like she’s trapped in some sort of time capsule that insists on unearthing 10 years worth of memories every time she stumbles upon something from her past. Unless maybe Queen Consolidated has secretly developed technology that can selectively repress memories? Then, yeah sure, sign her up right now. 

“Um, I don’t think Mr. Queen can help with... any of that...” her assistant, Matt, she’s pretty sure, stammers nervously, licking his lips as his fingers reach up to fidget with his bluetooth headset. “But, if you want I can check about the... memory technology?” 

Felicity groans, pinching the bridge of her nose as she shakes her head. She’s going to need to be more mindful about her lack of filter here just in case these people think she’s a little unhinged. 

“No, that’s okay. I’m just... you’ll get used to this whole -” she waves a hand over her face. “- thing eventually. I babble. But I’m good for now, thank you so much.” 

Nodding with relief, Matt makes a beeline for the door, only to stumble back with a gasp of surprise as it swings inwards instead, narrowly missing hitting him in his face. 

“Oh, sorry. Coming through!” 

Startled, Felicity’s head shoots up at the voice that doesn’t sound even a little bit sorry, leaning a little so she can see past Matt’s body at whoever’s barged into her office. 

“So the rumours are true. You’re back.” 

A tall, stunning brunette stands at her doorway, barely moving while Matt mumbles an apology as he squeezes past her, making a hasty escape. She’s dressed in a dark blue, figure hugging dress, expensive looking heels and has an unreadable expression on her face. 

Her chin is sharper, her cheekbones more defined than Felicity remembers, but she’d recognise that face anywhere. 

“Thea,” she breathes out. “Wow, you’re gorgeous.” 

The younger girl arches an eyebrow, but remains silent as she walks further into the office, allowing the door to click shut behind her. Felicity watches as Thea’s eyes roam over her office, finally landing back on her. “And _you’re._.. here. And _blonde._ ”

"I um, yeah. I’m here,” Felicity repeats carefully, unsure what else to say. Their last interaction had been _interesting_ to say the least. Harsh words exchanged over grief and anger and confusion during a time when neither one of them had idea how to handle themselves. 

And then just as suddenly as she’d appeared at her door, Thea crashes bodily into her. Felicity squeaks as she finds herself with an armful of long limbs and hair and she almost loses her balance from the impact. 

“Felicity, I’m so sorry, so sorry for everything I said before. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just angry at everything that was happening and I took it out on you.” 

“Oh, hey, it’s okay,” Felicity murmurs into her hair, wrapping her arms around her. Oh, how she’s missed this - Thea’s tight, all-encompassing hugs that never failed to make her feel loved and wanted and cherished. The Queen siblings had always been great huggers. “I’ve never held any of it against you, Thea.” 

Thea pulls back, untangling herself and then tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Then why didn’t you ever come back?” 

Her tone isn’t accusatory, more curious than anything else, but it strikes a chord deep in Felicity’s soul nonetheless. She’s hit with a flash of guilt, swallowing hard as she struggles to try and find the right words to say. 

“I was going through my own thing,” she answers, rubbing her hands together and then reaches out to close her finger around Thea’s wrist, guiding her into the chair in front of her desk. Felicity settles her hip on the edge of her desk while Thea makes herself comfortable, crossing her long legs, heels tapping against the floor. 

Felicity smiles gently, marveling silently at how much she’s grown, no longer the awkward twelve year old who would follow her brother to the ends of the Earth if he asked her to. Now she’s... a woman. Cool and beautiful and self-assured, and it makes Felicity wonder if the mischievous girl who helped her sneak into the Queen mansion one night to tee-pee Oliver’s room for his birthday has truly vanished.

She tries to explain herself again, because they had been close, practically family, and Thea deserves more than the half-truths she’s been able to get away with whenever anyone else asks her. 

“I’m really sorry I never kept in touch, I really am. But I wanted to deal with it myself, and I wasn’t really in a good place after it happened.” 

“None of us were,” Thea counters. But then after a beat, adds with a sly smile, “But I guess the main difference is that _I_ wasn’t desperately in love with my brother.”

Felicity jerks away, very nearly sending herself to the floor. _“Thea_ _!_ ”

“What, it’s true! You _told_ me!”

“In _confidence_ _!_ ” Felicity’s voice climbs to an embarrassing volume and she flicks her eyes out to her assistant to make sure he can’t hear them. 

Thea laughs. “Pretty sure we’ve gone past the statute of limitations on drunk confessions.” 

Oh yeah, Thea’s still _Thea_. Don’t know why she ever thought that would change. 

Felicity’s transported back in time, to when she used to babysit a very feisty Thea while Oliver went off doing god knows what with Tommy and their other friends. Back to when she would try and help her make sense of maths equations over burgers and milkshakes (and failing because Thea was more interested in the food), and to that one time Thea joined the Technology Program with her, only to drop out a week later when she realised she couldn’t just hang out with Felicity and was required to do _actual_ work. 

“You know, I forgot how annoying you can be,” Felicity mutters, but with no real ill intent in her words. “I don’t anymore, by the way. Love him. I’ve moved past it. So let’s not bring that up ever again.” 

“Uh huh, _sure_.”

Ugh, she really does _not_ miss that infuriating smirk one bit. Felicity sighs, curling the end of her ponytail around her finger. “You’re insufferable.” 

“And you’re still using big triple score words -” 

“ _Thea Queen!_ ”

“Oh no,” Thea groans as Felicity lets out a sharp ‘Eek!’ and slides off her desk. They both turn towards her office door just as it slams open to reveal a rather irritated looking Oliver, stony faced, glaring fiercely at his sister.

Okay, _seriously?_  Felicity squints at her assistant through the glass wall. Isn’t his job to _stop_ people from barging into her office unannounced? 

“Thea, you’re supposed to be in school.” Oliver growls, and wow - yeah, that voice? Hhngh. Felicity feels the tips of her ears heat up as the hair on the back of her neck prickle with... no _stop this._

“School, schmool. I’m graduating soon, none of it matters, and I wanted to see Felicity. You don’t have to be such a grump about it.” Thea rises from her seat and readjusts her bag on her shoulder. She sends Felicity an exasperated eye roll like they’re sharing a secret between them.

Oliver curls a hand around Thea’s elbow, marching her to the office door. “Diggle is still downstairs, tell him to take you to school. Straight to school, no pit-stops anywhere else, Speedy.”

“Whatever,” Thea mutters as she edges past Oliver, making sure to elbow him on the way out. And then with for sheer measure, adds, “You suck at hiding that bruise by the way, use better makeup.”

As she calls for the elevator, Thea turns around and through Felicity’s glass wall, she purses her her lips, making a kissy face behind Oliver’s back. She winks at Felicity salaciously before she struts backwards into the elevator. 

Felicity only _just_ keeps herself from flipping her off. 

When she turns her attention back to Oliver, he’s rubbing a hand behind his neck, the grim expression on his face now replaced with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry she bothered you, Felicity. I’m sure you have a lot of do, first day and all.” 

“She didn’t bother me. It was good to see her again,” Felicity says dismissing his apology. “Thanks for the office, by the way. This is so much nicer than I expected. Not that I thought you’d put me in like, a closet or something, which you wouldn’t because you know I’m claustrophobic, but this is so nice and Curtis is going to be so...” 

She trails off and feels her cheeks flame up. Again. God, why is she _like_ this? And now Oliver’s just staring at her with the softest smile on his face, like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen in the world and it’s not fair, because she’s trying to remain unaffected by him and she’s failing.

She _hates_ failing.

“Anyway, thanks. For the office.”

“I’ve really missed your babbling.”

“That makes one of us.”

Oliver shrugs, and then walks to the chair that Thea’s just vacated to settle down in it as if her making small talk with him was some sort of invitation to stay. She glares at him. So rude. And presumptuous.

Typical Oliver Queen.

“So, have you found a place yet?” he asks, blatantly ignoring the fact that if looks could kill, he would totally be dead right now. “I know how much you hate living in hotels, if you need suggestions -”

“Yes, I found a place,” she cuts him off curtly. And then his smile falters and she feels bad - because god forbid she _still_ doesn’t like being responsible for any sadness in his stupid life - so she relents and sinks into her own chair on the other side of her desk.

“It’s a couple of blocks from here, actually, so that worked out really well. I had a few things sent from San Francisco and they arrived yesterday so I still have to unpack but otherwise it’s all sorted.”

He nods in approval, which irritates her because it’s not like she needs it, or that he has any say in where she lives in the first place. It reminds her of the nightmare she had to go through with him when she got to Boston, which, infuriatingly enough, after all the trouble, ended up with her settling into the M.I.T dorms for the duration of her studies.  

She powers on her workstation in a subtle attempt to tell Oliver it’s time for him to go, she really does have work to do after all, but he doesn’t take the hint. Instead he stays seated, leaning further into his chair as he just... watches her.

Eventually, when it’s clear he’s not planning on going anywhere, she looks away from her monitor, rolls her chair back and folds her arms over her table.

“Oliver.”

“Felicity.”

“Don’t you have work to do? Have a company to run?” she snaps, giving up all pretenses of being civil to him. If he wants to be annoying, he can deal with the consequences.

She picks up a pen and uncaps it, pointing the end of it in his direction. “I know for a fact you have to look at the proposals Curtis sent through last night and sign off on them before our work can actually start, so go do that.”

Of course, he just gives her an amused ‘ _are you really going to stab me with your pen_ ’ look and shakes his head. “I’ll look at them later, I promise.”

“Yeah, well your promises don’t mean anything to me anymore,” she mutters darkly as she puts the pen down.

As usual, her brain-to-mouth filter fails her at the most inopportune moment and when she realises what she’s said - and _out loud_ to make things worse - her blood runs cold and she stills, completely freezing in her seat.

She’s just entered very dangerous territory. Territory she literally told him she didn’t want to get into.

Very slowly, she lifts her gaze and and notices that the easy smile is gone and Oliver’s lips are drawn in a thin line. His jaw is clenched, emphasising the bruise that’s still lingering on his skin, nostrils flared, and his hands are clasped so tightly together in his lap she’s sure he’s hurting himself.

“Oliver, I -”

He shakes his head. His voice is rough with what sounds like regret and sorrow and it cuts deep into her soul. “I guess I deserved that. No, I _know_ I do.”

She’s only heard him sound like this once before, when he flew all the way out to Vegas because he thought he’d somehow ruined her life by being her friend.

Back then, his fears had been unfounded. Back then, she’d been steadfast in her belief that no matter what happened, he was the one person who would never, ever disappoint her.

If only she knew then what she knows now.

“I’m sorry, Felicity. I know nothing I say will change anything, but I _am_ sorry. I’ve been sorry for six years. I never... I never wanted to hurt you. Please believe that, at the very least.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she squirms in her seat. It’s too much. The sincerity in his words is as clear as day, the way he’s pleading with her - it’s genuine and real, and _honest_ and this is exactly why she didn’t want to talk about it.

This is why she wanted to keep things professional between them because even with the remnants of betrayal and anger still lingering in the back of her mind, she feels her resolve crumbling.

But then a small voice in her head asks, isn’t this what she’s wanted to hear for so long? For him to come back and apologise and take all the pain and hurt away? For him to give her some sort of explanation as to why - and _how_ \- he could have done what he did to her. And here he is, practically begging at her feet for a chance to explain, and she can’t bring herself to let him.

Because she’s afraid she’ll let him in and all he’ll do is take her heart and crush into pieces all over again, the snide voice in her head so helpfully so chimes in.

She’s gone from being excited over her new office and seeing Thea, to annoyed and confused at Oliver and her day has barely even started. She hates feeling so out of control of her own emotions. The lump in her throat only grows the more she dwells on it.

“So, I think... I think I’m gonna go. We’re keeping it strictly work related, I get it. I’m sorry. Again.”

It takes a moment for her to realise Oliver’s speaking to her and she doesn’t quite register his words until he’s standing up from his chair, studiously avoiding making eye contact with her. She’d been so caught up in her own head that she never did respond to his apology, and from the grim set of his features and the way his fists are balled by his side, he’s taken her silence as a dismissal.

Oliver’s already halfway out the office by the time she manages to make sense of the tangled web of thoughts caught in her head. He doesn't look back as he walks out, nodding to her assistant politely before disappearing out of sight.

She should be glad about his departure. She’s wanted him to leave her alone the moment he walked in.

So why does she feel like she’s just carved a giant, gaping hole in her own heart?

* * *

After the rough morning that left her emotionally raw, bruised and battered, the rest of her day goes relatively well.

She introduces herself to Queen Consolidated’s I.T. and Applied Sciences division over a small lunch time gathering, pleasantly surprised that she recognises a few people from years at the Q.C. summer program.

Oliver, much to her immense relief, makes himself scarce, staying clear away from her the entire time. There’s a general sense of excitement that runs through the employees, everyone equally intrigued at the strange but welcomed joint venture between them. It serves to calm her nerves about being there, and soon enough she’s happily taking questions and exchanging ideas with some of the smartest people in the room.

By the time the evening rolls around, she’s neck deep in contracts and blueprints, and so when there’s a loud, resounding knock on her door, she jumps and nearly tips over the now lukewarm cup of coffee she’s been nursing for the past hour.

“Um, come in!” she calls out distractedly, looking down at the massive piles of paper on her desk to make sure she hasn’t spilled anything on her work. Heavy footsteps walk in, stopping in front of her desk.  

“Hey, you should call it a night.”

 _Ugh_. 

She rolls her neck as she looks up at her visitor, then readjusts her glasses. “Don’t know why you think you can tell me what to do, Oliver,” she says, arching an eyebrow.

He squares his shoulders and takes a tiny step back. Exhales slowly as his fingers twitch like he’s holding back some smart retort.

 _He’s_ clearly done for the day, she notes, having taken off his suit and casually slung it over his elbow, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his forearms. His tie hangs loose around his neck and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing just a sliver of teasing skin.

He lifts an arm to scratch the back of his head and she can’t help but notice the bulge of his bicep, barely contained by the sleeve of his shirt.

She swallows. Hard.

“It’s late, that’s all. I’m not trying to... _push_ or anything, but I didn’t want you to be the only one left here alone.”

She melts just a little bit. Damn him. And damn his dumb, concerned blue eyes. And his day old _scruff_ \- which hm, how would _that_ feel against her skin? Probably soft, if his hair is anything to go by. Or maybe it’d be course and prickly - ticklish? He didn’t have that much of a shadow this morning, so he must shave regularly, which means yeah, it’ll be rough and -

“Felicity?”

She blinks, then notices the beginnings of a smirk forming on Oliver’s face. Her skin flushes and she clears her throat self-consciously because he’s _so_ just caught her staring at him.

Be. _Professional._

If she repeats it a few more times, maybe she’ll actually take her own advice.

“I’m fine. It’s not even that...” Her eyes drift to the corner of her computer monitor and her eyes go wide. “Okay, maybe it is that late. Wow. There’s just so much I still have to do, and designs to send through to A.R.G.U.S. to get approved, and the other projects we’re developing - not that I’m not focused on _our_ project, of course, because I can multitask with the best of them -”

Oliver comes around and stands behind her before pulling her chair away from her desk, effectively silencing her mid-babble.

He leans in, his face dangerously close to hers and her eyes flutter shut, counting to ten in her head. She can feel his breath caressing the tip of her ear, delicious, sexy heat starting to simmer under her skin.

This is so bad.

“Felicity. This stuff can wait. It’s almost nine and it’s your first day. Go home, _celebrate._ ”   

The soft rumble of his voice is nearly her undoing, low and growly, and it goes straight through her like, searing a path of longing into her skin. And then a second later,she comes into herself and _panics_ , scampering out of her chair, sending it rolling back into a very bewildered Oliver.

“Yup, yeah,” she stutters, averting her gaze. There’s a good amount of space between them now - including her desk - so she gives herself a moment to calm down. Ridiculous. She’s being so ridiculous about this. Get a goddamn grip, Smoak.

She throws her things into her bag, wincing as she hears her phone connect loudly with her tablet. “Home is good. Gotta unpack and all that, you know?”

“Felicity.”

Her head shoots up and she glares at him. Why in hell’s blazes does he insist on saying her name like that? Who gave him the right? It’s like he’s tasting the individual syllables on his tongue, savouring it like a four course meal and it’s driving her crazy.

“Yes, _Oliver?_ ” She doesn’t bother to hide the exasperation in her voice, making a point to _not_ say his name the way he says hers. 

“I think we got off to a bad start.” He drapes his suit over the back of her chair and shoves his hands into his pockets. Leans his hip on the edge of her desk, peering at her with earnest eyes. “I want to fix that.”

“You don’t -”

“No, hear me out, please. We have to work together. Every day, until the work is done. There’s no getting around this.”

Yeah, _obviously_ , she wants to say. But she tamps down the snark, bites her tongue for once, and nods, indicating for him to continue.  

“I know you said you don’t want talk. About... before. About us. And I’m going to respect that, I promise. But I also don’t want to constantly walk on eggshells around you, Felicity. I don’t want to worry if I’ll say the wrong thing and send you running across the room - like you just did. I don’t want to make you feel awkward around me.”

“Hah!” The bark of laughter echoes around them. “When have I ever _not_ been awkward around you?” 

It slips out without thought, and it elicits a chuckle from Oliver. Some of the tension in the room dissipates and his shoulders relax. He folds his hands on his lap and sucks in a breath and then he’s all serious again, frowning as he licks his lips.  

“I’m not the same guy I was before the island. Things happened there that... changes a person and I don’t know... I don’t know how to be me, around you, when I’m _not_ me. So I overcompensated and tried too hard to pretend everything’s the same as they had been before? Ah, I’m not making any sense...” 

There’s a strange, almost suffocating feeling that’s starting to creep around her heart, tinged with sorrow and guilt. She can see now, how hard all of this is for him. His knees are jiggling, he’s fidgeting on the spot, nervous as she’s ever seen him before. She’d been so caught up in her own issues that she hadn’t spared a thought about what _he_ might be working through with her being back.

Even if _he’s_ the one who left _her_.  

“So I need you to tell me what to do here. What I can do to make us... okay?” He waves a hand at the space between them. “Less weird?”

She bites down on her bottom lip, holds up a finger asking him to give her a moment to herself. He nods wordlessly as she slowly walks to the window, ruminating, letting his words sink in without having his hopelessness staring back at her.

He’d told her, that night under the brilliant stars of the Las Vegas desert, not to fall for a boy like him and she stupidly, carelessly, against every sensible, logical, cell in her body, had gone and done exactly that.  

She lets the memory wrap itself around her like a warm blanket, transported back to when she first realised the magnitude of her feelings for her then best friend.

Her heart had been doomed from the start.

She turns away from the window and drinks in his profile. He’s slumped forward, still sitting on the edge of her desk, his bare forearms flexing as he does something on his phone. The corners of his eyes are crinkled with worry, like he’s received some bad news and in that moment, it hits her.

The anger she’s been holding on to for so long had been at a young and sweet, but ultimately reckless boy, lost and misguided in life. And he’s right. The person before her is no longer that same boy. He’s a _man_ who’s gone through five years worth of horrors that she can’t even begin to imagine, tainted by loss and tragedy, trying to find his footing in the world that he left behind.  

That boy grew up.  

As if he can sense her staring, he looks up from his phone with an eyebrow raised in a silent question. They never really needed words to communicate and it looks like despite everything else, _that_ remains unchanged.

She exhales, rolls her shoulders back and takes a leap of faith. “I want us to not be awkward too, Oliver.”

He stands up, pockets his phone and takes a step towards her. A small one, like he’s still afraid she’ll run from him. There’s a glimmer of something that looks like _hope_ shining in his eyes and even though her head’s telling her to _be careful_ , because she’s already been burned by him once, she can’t help but also feel the same spark of hope blossoming in her.

“I think I want to get to know _this_ you.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but the brilliant smile that stretches across his face tells her he definitely heard her.

“Yeah?”

She smiles back at him.

“Yeah.”

* * *

  **2007**

 “Oliver, get out of my way.”

 She’s going to kill him. No, she’s going to drain his bank account, ruin his credit rating and _then_ she’s going to kill him. She nudges him out of the way, making extra sure to dig her elbow into his side as she walks into her room.

“Felicityyy.” He drags the last syllable of her name out, whining like the man-child that he is. “This place is so small. The sink is five steps from your bed! As your best friend, I cannot in good conscience let you live here. How are we supposed to hang out when there’s barely any space to _move?_ ”

“Can you stop being so dramatic, just for one second?” she growls, yanking her suitcase out of his hands and rolling it against the wall by her bed. “This is my first day. Of college. And you’re _ruining_ it with all of your howling!”

That shuts him right up. He blinks at her a few times, and then flops down on her bed without warning.

Huh. Now that’s a sight she didn’t think would be so... _enticing._.. but here she is. She’s long given up trying to ignore what she feels for him, fully embracing the fact that she’s always going to have unrequited feelings for her best friend, as tragic as it sounds. All she can hope for is that the prolonged, constant exposure now that they’re going to be in the same city for the foreseeable future, can somehow dull the attraction.

“God, even your bed is tiny, Felicity,” Oliver grumbles, pressing her pillow over his face.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, noticing with some amusement that yeah, he’s too tall and almost too wide for her college issue single bed.

“But fine. You’re right, it’s your first day, I’ll stop being a brat. But for future reference, we’re hanging out at my apartment from now on. Because this is so _unbecoming_. Offer’s still open by the way, _my_ place has plenty of room.”

She kicks his dangling feet out of spite, but he just lifts his head and grins at her before letting it fall back onto her pillow.

“And be subjected to your and Tommy’s nightly parties? No thanks, I’ve got scholarships to maintain here.” She tugs her hair out of her ponytail and sits down on the edge of the bed, glancing at him with narrowed eyes. “Plus, I don’t think Laurel would appreciate that.”

Oliver stares at her with a strange, undecipherable expression on his face. Then after a beat, shakes his head and sits up, pressing himself right up next to her.

“We broke up,” he says easily, which, after the number of times they’ve broken up and gotten back together, does not surprise her one bit. “This morning. Before I picked you up from the airport, actually.”

“How long until you go groveling back to her? I bet you five bucks you last one week.” She shoves him playfully with her shoulders, secretly glad because it means at the very least, she won’t have to see Laurel any time soon - until they get back together, that is.   

“Easiest five bucks I’m ever gonna make,” Oliver croons, not at all sounding like someone who’s just broken up with their long-term, albeit off and on, girlfriend. He doesn’t give her any time to analyse his odd behaviour, leaping from her bed and tugging her up with him.

“Come on. Unpack later, I’m taking you on a tour.”

Her first semester at M.I.T turns out to be one of the best couple of months her life. Her classes are great and she’s challenged in ways she never has been before. Her professors pick up on her genius level smarts early on and she’s placed in a fast-tracked program that will get her a double masters in a crazy short amount of time.

It’s exciting and an honour and the first person she tells when she finds out is Oliver, who hugs her so tightly she’s sure she can feel every ridge of his abs through both their shirts.

“Always knew you were gonna kill this college thing, Felicity. God, what aren’t you good at?” He’s looks so proud that it fills Felicity’s heart with warmth and gratitude and not for the first time she wonders what she did in her past life to deserve to have someone like him in her life.

“Nothing, Oliver, because I’m great at _everything,_ ” she responds smugly.

He just laughs at her, full bellied and hearty and Felicity thinks it’s one of the best sounds she’s heard in her entire life. But then again, she’s biased. It’s been months, and she’s still hopelessly kind of, maybe in love with him, so she can’t exactly be objective about it.

Getting into the fast track program means she has a heavier than usual load, and by the time her mid-term examination period rolls around it ends up being one of the toughest, roughest weeks in college.   

She has a lot to study for and no time to spend loafing around with Oliver and Tommy, who don’t take their examinations as seriously as she does. The lead up to exam week - her _first_ college exam week - is a combination of very late nights and early mornings at the library, too much coffee and not enough at the same time - and much to her eternal annoyance, Oliver’s constant distracting presence.

“I come bearing snacks,” he announces one evening as he slides into the seat next to hers. It earns him a lot of dirty looks from everyone else at the library, but he pays them no mind. He leans in dangerously close to her and then flicks the end of her ponytail because he’s a _child_.

“I got all your favourite ones. Come on, talk to me, I miss you.”

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him. He’ll get bored and go away eventually.

“Okay, silent treatment. Got it. Guess I can have all this fudge to myself then. Yum.”

She looks up at the mention of fudge, and that was a mistake, because oh man, he’s holding it right in front of her and it looks rich and sinful and smells so _damn_ good. Her traitorous stomach rumbles, making Oliver chuckle.

“You can have one if you close your textbook for one second, and look at me.”

“Fine,” she mutters through gritted teeth. She slides her notes into her book, marking her place and shuts it. She finally turns to him, takes in his dumb, handsome face and she can’t help the slight upward curl of her lips. “Fudge me.”

His mouth falls open, eyes wide with mock surprise. “Whoa. For one second, I thought you said something completely different and I just had this image of -”

She balls up a piece of scrap paper and throws it against his head. “Don’t go there, Oliver, I’m warning you. What else do you have for me?”

Turns out, bless his soul, Oliver really did bring all her favourites with him, an entire assortment of candy that he’d smuggled into the library. She knows she’s being just a bit dramatic about it when she squeals into his backpack, but it’s worth it because Oliver preens proudly when she does so, happy that he’s made _her_ happy.

She’s munching through a mouthful of M&Ms, eyes shut and enjoying the sugar and chocolate melting on her tongue when he taps her on her shoulder. She opens an eye, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I uh, also got you these.” His voice drops into a low whisper as he pulls out a paper bag from the front pocket of his hoodie.

She squints at him suspiciously but takes the bag anyway. She peeks inside and her breath catches in her throat. “Oh, Oliver...”

“I hope I’m not overstepping,” he murmurs. “But I saw you pop a couple of Midols this morning and you’ve been fidgeting all night like... you’ve got cramps? Thea says heat packs help, and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable before your exam and -”

God, this guy. This sweet, charming, amazing guy. How is she supposed to get over her stupid crush when he keeps doing things like this for her? Tears well up in her eyes, and she sniffles before pulling him into an awkward sideways hug, since they’re both sitting side by side.

“Uh, so I did good, yeah?” he asks, lips moving against her temple.

She nods. “You know you did, you jerk. Don’t go fishing for more compliments.”

He tightens his arms around her once, then pulls back. Clearing his throat, he puts on an uncharacteristic serious face and pushes her textbook back in front of her.

“Alright, play time’s over. Come on, give me your flash cards. Quiz time!”

* * *

 

Frat parties are the worst.

She’s never going to another frat party again, for the rest of her life. Her shoes are sticking to the floor, the music is _terrible_ and everything stinks of stale booze and sweat and this is absolutely not how she wanted to spend her last day on campus before heading home.

This is all Oliver’s fault.

And he’s not even _here_. 

She pulls out her phone and checks it again, scowling when there’s still nothing from him. This was his idea, one last hurrah before they head home for the summer - her to Vegas and him back to Starling. He’d heard about the party from Laurel, of all people, and had begged her to come with him.

Out of the kindness of her heart, she’d agreed because why not? She’d worked hard all damn year, she deserved one night to let loose.

Except Oliver is MIA and she’s here alone, at a party on a campus that isn’t even hers.

“Goddamnit, Oliver,” she growls. When he finally shows up, she’s going to punch him so hard, which probably won’t hurt his stupidly rock hard body, but it’s the thought that counts.

Someone bumps into her and then she feels cold, gross liquid spilling over her arms. She yells angrily at the idiot, but he just meanders away unapologetically, ignoring her, and it’s the last straw.

She turns around, pushes past the throng of drunk college students and storms out. She’s done. So done with tonight. All she wanted to do is hang out with her best friend and he’s just flaked on her - which is strange, but he’s probably already drunk and making out with some girl somewhere so _-_

“Felicity!”

She whirls around at the sound of her name, disoriented for a second because she’s in unfamiliar territory but then a dark shape lumbers towards her, stumbling in the dark. When the shape walks under the glow of the street lamps, and she can make out who it is, she plants her feet, huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Felicity, I’m so sorry. I got caught up with some stupid stuff and my phone died and I didn’t know if we were meeting here or at your place...”

He looks exhausted, deep lines in his forehead like he’s been upset all night. He definitely doesn’t look like he’s been partying the night away, much less making out with anyone.

Worry replaces her earlier anger, and she unfolds her arms, stepping closer. She runs her hand along his jaw. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Listen, let’s get outta here for a sec,” he says, eyeing the frat house she just stormed out of. “That... doesn’t look like it’d be fun for you.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” she mutters. “So ready to go.”

He takes her hand then, lacing their fingers together as he pulls her away. He’s more familiar with the campus than she is, having spent a semester there before dropping out, on top of the time he’d spent with Laurel back when they were together, so she follows him obligingly.

Something’s clearly up with him, that much is clear. He’ll tell her eventually, he usually does, but there’s a marked difference between his demeanor this afternoon when he was pestering her about the party and now.

They walk in silence for about ten minutes and he finally stops at a bench in a quiet park. She sits down, pulling him with her. “Oliver, what’s going on? 

“Ah, just some crap from home. Didn’t feel like a party after all.” He lets out a breath and leans his head over the back of the bench. “Don’t feel like going home either, now.”

“Thea will want you to go home,” Felicity says. She knows his parents are hard on him, definitely not pleased that he’s swapped in and out of majors and dropped out of so many colleges, so she understands why he doesn’t want to go home to deal with that. But his sister will be disappointed.

He just grunts at her, head still tilted back. “You know, we should go somewhere,” he says, almost absentmindedly. “Far away.” .

Felicity’s heart skips a beat and she inches away from him, putting a little distance between them. Oliver doesn’t notice and just keeps staring up at the night sky.

“Maybe Bali, you’ve always wanted to go to Bali, right? We can go tomorrow, take the family jet and just _go_. I know you don’t really want to go back to Vegas either.”

“Oliver, be serious, tell me what’s wrong, please.” She’s not going to acknowledge his absurd travel plans - because that’s what they are. Absurd. But she wants to know, she’s desperate to know, what’s gotten into him.

She’s worried, and her heart’s thudding really hard under her chest and all the feelings she has for him are brewing dangerously close to the surface of her skin and he’s one hundred percent freaking her out right now.

“No, don’t freak out.” Oliver sits up then, straightens his back and stares at her. He licks his lips. The smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he takes her hand and plays with her fingers. “I’m serious. Let’s go. You and me. Just for a week or so, it’ll be great, Felicity.”

Her gaze falls to their hands, fingers entwined, and oh wow, she _wants_ it. It’s crazy and spontaneous and going on a short vacation with him? Just the two of them without Tommy or Laurel or school getting in the way? She’s trembling with the realisation of how much she actually wants it.

But she can’t. She can’t. Oh, god. Not when she’s still trying to make sense of her feelings for him, trying to compartmentalise everything and _not_ be in love with him. Going away with him is the worst possible idea and it’ll ruin them - and their friendship and that’s something she’s not willing to lose.

“I can’t,” she whispers, tugging her hand out of his and plasters a watery smile on her face. “You could take Tommy though? I’m sure he’ll be a riot.”  

“I don’t want to take Tommy, I want to take _you_.” He sounds frustrated now, running his hands through his hair, harsh breaths coming out in short puffs between his lips. “If it’s money you’re worried about, don’t. Because I can -”

“It’s not the money, Oliver,” she says over a sigh.

“Then let’s _go!_  Come on, you’ve wanted to go to Bali for ages. What’s stopping you now?”

She doesn’t want to do this. Not here, not now. Possibly not ever. She’s still annoyed at the party, he’s annoyed about _something_ , and honestly, does he really think he can just spring this across the world trip on her and just expect her to go?

“You’re already packed for Vegas. Just take that bag and go. Please, Felicity I just -”

God, he’s pushy tonight. “Oliver you’re not listening to me. I can’t just _go,_ don’t you understand? It doesn’t work that way!”

“Why not?!” His voice thunders around her and she flinches away, scrambling out of the bench.

“Don’t shout at me, Oliver! You’re upset over something, fine! Don’t you dare take it out on me!”

He stands up too, eyes blazing now, well and truly allowing his anger to seep through. “I’m not taking it out on you! I just want to go on a trip with you because I’ve missed you and I want to hang out with you, is that such a terrible idea, Felicity? Why are you so against this!?”

It’s too much. Her nerves are already frayed, she’s tired and too many emotions are going through her all at once and she’s about to completely lose it. She’s angry at him for giving her this choice, angry at herself for being so confused about her feelings for him, angry at him for just assuming she’d go with him and so, so angry at him for being angry at her for absolutely no reason!

“You’re _unbelievable_ you know that?!” She scream-sobs. Their voices are probably carrying, but neither one of them seem to care. “You just spring this on me and expect me to just go with it? No questions asked? I’m not some floozy you can impress with your private jets and expensive holidays, Oliver!”

“I know you’re not, _goddamnit_ Felicity! Why won’t you just _come with me!?_ ”

“Because I’m in _love_ with you, you fucking idiot!”

Fuck.

She clamps a hand over her mouth and she stumbles backwards. Almost trips over her own feet because _fuck_.

Oliver’s entire face shifts, anger morphing to _something else_ \- eyes wide, slack-jawed, chest heaving. He’s blinking dumbly at her and maybe, maybe he didn’t hear her? Maybe he was so angry that he completely missed her stupid, untimely confession?

Please, god.

“Felicity... what did you say?”

Nope. He definitely heard her. Her face blanches and she’s sure the colour’s gone from her skin.

“ _Felicity_ ,” he repeats. He takes a step towards her and her first instinct is to high tail it out of there and run away. But it’s out there now. Her however-many-years long secret is now out in the open and she’s going to just have to face the music.

Just deal with the fallout now, rip it off like a bandaid, so she can grieve the loss of her friendship over her summer break. She shuts her eyes and sucks in a breath. She can deal with it without having to look at him, at least.

“I’m in love with you,” she whispers. The tears start spilling from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks. Saying it out loud, intentionally this time, it’s... _freeing_.

“Have been, actually. For a while. I don’t know how long, exactly, but it’s been... a while.” She gets braver with every word that falls from her lips, with every piece of truth that she unravels from deep in the depths of her heart.

“I thought maybe with us both being in Boston, I’d get over it, like a stupid crush you know? Like I’d be so annoyed with you constantly being around me that the feelings will just go away... but it’s been a year and it _hasn’t_. You’re one of the best things that’s happened to me in my life, and I just can’t believe that I’m ruining our friendship by -”

“Felicity. Stop.”

Oh. She opens her eyes, and he’s right there.

In front of her.

He’s walked to her while she’s busy spilling her guts out to him and now he’s standing barely an inch away, his intense blue eyes staring at her like he’s looking right into her soul.

“Uh... Oliver, what -”

And then he’s kissing her. He’s _kissing_ her.

His lips are so soft, so warm, pressing gently over hers like he’s afraid he’ll break her if he goes any harder. Her eyes flutter shut automatically as she tilts her head to give him access to more. More of her. His hands come up to cup her face as he leans down, pulling her closer to him.

Her brain is short-circuiting.

She feels nothing else but him, and his lips, and the pads of his fingers tracing small circles against the skin along her jaw. His tongue slips between her lips and she sighs, granting him entrance, tasting him for the first time in her life, the way she’s wanted to for so long.

She nips at his bottom lip, then drags it between hers, sucking and licking, drinking him in. He groans, then slowly, very slowly, pulls back from her.

“Wow.” His voice is gruff and raw and when she looks up at him, his pupils are several shades darker than they usually are. He’s breathless. “You’re amazing.”

She’s still barely capable of putting a coherent thought together, but she swallows and licks her lips, desperate to taste more of him. “Oliver, what... what is this?”

His hands travel down from her face to cup the top of her shoulders. He takes a few deep breaths.

“Felicity, I’ve been in love with you for the longest, longest fucking time.”

Her entire world stops. Her eyes fly wide open. Her stomach swoops and her hands curl into fists by her side.

“ _What?_ ”

No, seriously, what the hell is happening right now? Because - did he just tell her he loves her? _Too_?  

Oliver laughs, the kind of shoulder-shaking laughter borne from pure relief. It’s ridiculous - their entire situation is ridiculous, and she feels the same laughter bubbling in her chest as well.

“Felicity, I don’t know how we’ve been so stupid, but I love you. I _love_ you. Please come with me to Bali tomorrow, and we can work this out, okay? Please, god Felicity, I want to keep loving you and kissing you and I can think of nothing better than spending a whole week with you on a beach doing exactly that. _Please._ ”

“Oliver. I don’t...” Then she shakes her head and grins, because yeah, she’s done. She’s done pretending she’s not head over heels in love with him. Absolutely done with it. Her heart is so full, and for the first time in years, it’s like everything is right in the world and she’s so happy.

She’s _happy_.  

 “You know what? Yeah, let’s go to Bali.”

* * *

 

_7:32am_

Sending you a text because it’s still early and I didn’t want to wake you. I know I said don’t pick me up until like, 9, but I’m awake now because I’m super excited and I couldn’t sleep so come over. Now, please. Or whenever you wake up.

_7:48am_

Thanks for the goodnight kiss by the way, don’t think I said that last night. We’re really good at that.

_8:04am_

Oliver? Pick up your phone. I’m hungry, bring breakfast.

_8:26am_

???

_8:45am_

Oliver, answer your phone.

 

_9:03am_

Felicity. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

_9.05am_

I’m in Starling. I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and thoughts always appreciated! 
> 
> Twitter: @estheryam


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felicity thinks Oliver's a little too clumsy and Oliver thinks Felicity's super cute.

It’s funny, Oliver thinks, that all it takes is Felicity’s reappearance for him to start thinking about something other than his father’s list of names.

Not once in the last six months have the dangers and risks of what he’s doing as the vigilante can make him change his mind about this crusade he’s set out on. Not even the prospect of his family finding out his big, green, hooded secret could make him stop chasing the ghosts of his father’s mistakes.  

But one glance at the literal _girl that got away_ , and his entire world shifts on its axis and it’s cheesy and sappy and seventeen year old Felicity would scowl at him and call him _dramatic_ , but it’s true.

When he first returned from Lian Yu, the only thing on his mind had been revenge and justice and crossing off all the names on the list. But the moment he spotted her from across the room at Starling Grand, looking miserable and glaring daggers at the bartender, he realised that all of that - the list, the names, and his less than legal late night activities -  wouldn’t be able to fill the void in his soul that the last five years had sucked from him.

Seeing her again reignited a spark in him that he hasn’t felt in a really long time. Felicity’s always been his strongest supporter, her unconditional belief in him infallible - until he’d gone and fucked it all up, of course - and as he made his way to her, pushing past everyone else in the room, it had felt like he was waking up. Really waking up from the nightmare he’d been living in for the past five and a half years.

The notion of righting his father’s wrongs, bringing justice raining down on those who deserved it - yeah, that was good, and noble, but none of that compared to the way his heart soared when his eyes fell on her slight frame, her hair a golden yellow now instead of the light brown he remembers. Nothing compares to the sense of completeness and the tingling warmth in his fingers when he realised it was her standing right there in front of him.

Felicity Megan Smoak.

She’d been cagey and dismissive when he mustered up the courage to speak to her that night, not that he can blame her for it. And then after receiving her award, she made it a point to avoid him the rest of the night. She probably thinks he didn’t notice, but noticing things was what kept him alive on the island and it’s basically all he does now so he kept his distance out of respect for her.

Now though, through some miracle of strange but welcome circumstances, they’re thrown together again, like it’s fate, or destiny, or magic or _something_ \- and if there’s anything he’s learned from his time away, it’s not to mess with something as temperamental as magic. 

So here he is, on the tail end of a grueling first two weeks of their partnership, finally able to carve some time out of his busy days (and nights) to make good on their whole ‘getting to know _this_ version of him’ thing. 

It’s seven in the morning on a Friday, _stupid early_ , Diggle had grumbled when he picked him up, and he’s hovering outside Felicity’s office door with two steaming cups of coffee. He’s hoping he’ll catch her before she starts her day because he’s tried multiple times over the past two weeks to coerce her into taking a break but once she’s gets deep in code and programming, there’s less than zero chances of her resurfacing for a friendly chat. 

The elevator dings loudly but it’s her assistant that walks out and he tries very hard not to let his disappointment show. 

“Mr. Queen!” 

Matt scrambles to his desk and starts typing frantically at his keyboard. “I, uh, I wasn’t aware Ms. Smoak had a morning meeting, I’m so sorry! She usually comes in early anyway so you shouldn't be waiting long at all. Unless there’s traffic? But I think she lives nearby so she probably walks to work -”

“It’s fine, Matt. I didn’t have an appointment. I can wait.” He holds back the urge to roll his eyes, absently wondering if Felicity’s babbling is contagious. Oddly enough, he finds that it’s only adorable when _she’s_ the one doing the babbling.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long, the elevator doors sliding open again not even five minutes later.

She’s in a dark blue, really _tight_ dress that falls just above her knees, accentuating her gorgeous figure, striding comfortably in unbelievably high heels across the floor. He still finds it hard to believe just how much she’s transformed from the Felicity he knew almost six years ago; _that_ Felicity would have tripped all over herself in these heels.  

It hasn’t escaped his notice that her corporate wear toes the line of being almost inappropriate; short skirts and tight tops, and that if he were still Ollie Queen: Colossal hot mess, she would be making his head swim. In a really good way.

But he’s not that person anymore, or, he’s trying very hard not to be at the very least. So he banishes the thoughts from his head, squares his shoulders and pushes off from the wall he’s been leaning on while waiting for her.

She’s engrossed with something on her phone so he doesn’t take it personally when she ignores his cheerful greeting, marching right past his outstretched hand holding out her coffee and into her office.

“Um, hey, good morning, Felicity,” he tries again as he slips in after her, just before her door shuts behind him.

She makes a non-committal noise in way of a greeting and dumps her bag on her desk, moving around to power on her workstation. Then, as she waits for the computer to start up, finally looks up at him and her eyes zero on in on the cups in his hands.

“Please tell me that’s for me.” She presses her lips into a hopeful smile, and Oliver grins, taking it as an invitation to come forward, carefully handing her one of the coffees.

She grabs it with both hands, fingers twitching until she fully wraps them around the large cup. Oliver watches with interest as her eyes flutter shut, lashes feathering over her porcelain skin as her head tilts back and she takes the longest sip of coffee known to man.

He can’t help but be drawn to the length of her neck as she practically inhales the coffee, simmering heat stirring through him at the sight of her pale skin exposed to his gaze

When she’s done, she opens her eyes again and he can see the gratitude shining back at him. His heart does a weird fluttering thing that makes him want to clutch at his chest and he mentally chastises himself for being such a goddamn sap.

“Looks like you really needed that,” he hums, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk. “Long night?”

“More like long week, but yes, long night too,” she moans, leaning back in her own chair. She rolls her neck and stretches her hands out in front of her, wincing when they both hear her knuckles cracking.

“Our servers back home crashed last night and Curtis needed help handling it, even though he really should be able to do it himself. I think he’s a little needy because he misses me, which I totally understand because we haven’t really been apart for this long before and maybe he just wanted to hear my voice. But in the end we managed to reroute some traffic to our offsite servers and you... don’t care about any of this, do you?’”

Oliver honestly doesn’t even realise she’s stopped talking because his brain is stuck on ‘ _misses me_ ’ and ‘ _haven’t been apart for this long_ ’ and he fists his hands against his thighs.

 _Of course_ she has a boyfriend.

She’s beautiful and smart and who in their right mind _wouldn’t_ want to be with her? A pit forms in his stomach, a swirling dark mess of regret and muted anger - mostly at himself. When she said she wanted to get to know him, he’d let his imagination run wild with the possibilities of maybe rekindling what they could have had, and it never once crossed his mind that she could be taken.

“Oliver? You okay?”

He looks up at her, slowly unfurling his fists, and forces a smile onto his face. It’s not her fault he’d just made an assumption about her. He vaguely remembers that other person at the party - she’d introduced him as her partner, but at the time he’d only had eyes for her, so he hadn’t paid any real attention to him.

She has a _boyfriend_.

Wow, the revelation actually hurts more than the hit he copped from the thug he took down last night.

“Yeah, just distracted, I’m sorry about your servers,” he says before taking a sip of his own coffee, using the time to soothe the cracks forming in his heart. He’s an adult, he can handle this like one. Like a well-adjusted, mature adult.

“At least it’s almost the weekend, right?”

“Ugh, yes. But it’s probably going to be more of the same, you know? I didn’t anticipate how hard Director Michaels was going to ride me when I signed on... oh!” Felicity cuts herself off and a blush creeps up her face, cheeks tinged pink as she falters. “I mean, not ride me like _ride me_. Because I’m not - not that I have an issue with that if I swung that way, because she’s kinda stunning you know? But I mean -”

“I know what you mean,” he interrupts her before she spirals any further, chuckling good-naturedly. He really does love her babbling, even if she doesn’t.

"Right, but anyway, I’ll have to go down to the labs and run some tests on our prototypes and if something isn’t working the why it should I won’t even have a weekend, so yay for me!” she grumbles under her breath.

She turns to him then, bright pink lips twisted in an adorable pout. “I would kill to just do something that isn’t related to A.R.G.U.S. or Smoak Tech right now, but it kinda feels like that’s going to be my whole life for the next couple of months,” she muses, turning to her monitor and squinting at whatever’s on it.

The soft glow of light from her screen falls over her face, and coupled with the sunlight streaming through the windows, it casts shadows on her face that draw attention to the sharp ridge of her nose and the smooth curve of her cheeks that he used to brush chaste kisses over. She’s just as stunning as she was before, and he barely manages to keep himself from telling her.

And then he remembers the small thumb drive he’d taken off the body last night burning a hole in his pocket and a dangerous thought flits through his mind.

He really shouldn’t.  

Should he?

“You really want to do something not work related?” he ventures, testing the waters.

Her eyes flick up, then narrows them at him. “If it involves ducking out early, or skipping out on meetings that’s a hard pass for me.”

“Uh, no. But I do have... this.” He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls the thumb drive out. He slides it over to her, noting her quirked eyebrow as she glances down at it.

It occurs to him that this is probably a bad idea. He shouldn’t involve her in any of this. It’s irresponsible and reckless and he should just grab that thumb drive out of her fingers and pretend he never gave it to her.

Felicity holds it up to her face and turns it over in her hands. She bites her lip and her forehead crinkles. He recognises it as her ‘ _must solve this mystery right now_ ’ face and he can tell that she’s already intrigued by the drive. When her gaze flickers back to him he knows it’s too late to take it back.

Diggle is going to kill him.

“What’s on this, Oliver?” She puts it back down on her desk slowly, like she knows somehow that she’s not meant to be handling it.

“That’s what I need your help with. Think you can find out?”

She stares at him, head tilted, lips pressed together. “You do know you have USB ports on your own computer too?”

“Okay, smarty pants.” The nickname rolls of his tongue with ease and Felicity’s lips curl upwards as if she too is basking in the familiarity of the moniker. “I did try that, thank you very much. But it’s protected or encrypted or whatever and I can’t get any information off of it.”

The look she’s giving him is laced with suspicion, but beneath that and behind the glint of her glasses, there’s a hint of amusement reflected in her eyes. “You realise that you _also_ have an entire I.T. department at your disposal to do this for you, right? It’s literally what they’re there for, solving your I.T. problems. Wait, does this even belong to you, Oliver?”

“Well...” It’s not like he can just tell her he got it off the robbers he’d been hunting down last night. He licks his lips and spits out the first thing that pops into his head.

“It’s part of a scavenger hunt a friend of mine is running.”

“A _scavenger hunt_.”

“Yes.”

She picks it up again, examining it closely. “A scavenger hunt that involves decrypting a thumb drive? Seems a little over the top, don’t you think?”

She _so_ doesn’t believe him. Not even for a second. But she’s not calling him out on it and instead she just stares doe-eyed at him like she’s daring him to tell her the truth. And he can’t do that, not unless he wants to jeopardise _everything,_ so he just shrugs.

“It’s not my scavenger hunt, I’m just participating,” he says smoothly, leaning forward, folding his arms on her desk. A weird tension crackles between them as they get into a little stare-off. Felicity doesn’t break eye contact, but her tongue darts out to wet her lips and the image sends a thrill of desire straight down his body and it feels like he’s just been electrocuted.

He has to get a grip, god damn it. She’s _taken_.

Clearing his throat, he laces his fingers together and smiles widely, charm oozing out of him. “So, in the interest of giving you non-work related things to do, and because you’re a genius who’s better at this than anyone in my I.T. department, will you help me?”

She taps a well-manicured fingernail against her desk. “You think flattery will get you anywhere, don’t you?” she drawls.

Huh. Maybe he underestimated her whole hating mysteries thing. Maybe she doesn’t hate them so much anymore and they’ve lost their appeal, in which case, _good_ , Diggle might not -

“Because you should know that it, in fact, does,” she interrupts his thoughts with a smirk and a happy nod, her ponytail bouncing behind her. She winks at him. “Plus, you’re right. I _am_ better than everyone in your I.T. department.”

Her cheer is infectious and he finds himself returning her smile with a full blown grin of his own. He swears she’s blushing again, but a second later her computer chimes and she’s focused back on her monitor, obscuring her face from view.

“Ah, but can it wait until later?” she mutters as the smile disappears, replaced by a troubled frown, something on her screen obviously catching her attention. Her fingers start flying across her keyboard and Oliver knows he’s about to lose her to her work. “I can stop by your office with the info when I’m done?”

“Yes, that’s fine, thank you,” he tells her, though it doesn’t seem like she heard him. He’s not sure what to do for a second; Felicity seems to have already forgotten he’s there, and he eventually decides he should actually get to his own office to start his day.

He stands up and straightens his suit, giving her one last look before he turns to leave. She’s so beautiful when she’s in her element, hair gleaming in the sunlight, brows furrowed in concentration.

He takes his now empty coffee cup, and hers too for sheer measure, dumping them in her trash can before he walks to her door.

“What do you win?”

“Huh?” He half-turns to her, one hand already curled around her door knob.

“The scavenger hunt that you need to decrypt this very suspicious thumb drive for. What do you win if you make it to the end?” She elaborates with an exaggerated eye-roll. Her face screams _‘I know you’re lying, you jerk but let’s see how far are you going to take this'_  and does feel bad about lying to her, but it really is just for her own safety.

“A case of wine.” He makes up on the spot. Then off her still unimpressed look, adds, “Really _good_ wine.”

“O...kay. Do I get a bottle if you win?” Her hands leave her keyboard and she leans forward, elbows on her desk, chin resting on her fingers. Bright blue eyes shining with amusement. “Because I should, since I’m helping you, don’t you think?”

She’s asking him verbally for a bottle of wine, but as he takes in the expectant look on her face and the general ease in which she’s conversing with him, Oliver can’t help but feel like she’s asking for _more_. More of what, exactly, he’s not sure, but then again, he’s always been slow when it comes to deciphering the female mind.

Much like when she said she wanted to get to know him, she’s looking at him now, all soft and gentle, almost contemplative, like she’s trying to make a decision about something in that brilliant mind of hers. Tendrils of light and warmth that he’s only ever associated with Felicity curls around the dark, cold corners of his soul and he winks at her.

“You get whatever you want, Felicity.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you were stupid enough to drag her into this.”

Diggle’s voice startles him and Oliver growls under his breath as he miscalculates the jump, landing on the roof a little off centre, and _hard_ , the impact shooting right up his leg. “I didn’t _drag_ her into anything, and is this really the time, Diggle?”

Static crackles in his ear, and Oliver makes a mental note to find out if there are better ways to communicate with his friend instead of the finicky bluetooth headset they’re both using.

“You had her hack into that drive, and from what you’ve told me about her, she’s sure as hell smart enough to know it’s not for some bullshit _scavenger hunt_. Did you even think about how dangerous that was?”

“I did, and the benefit outweighed the risk. We got what we needed, didn’t we?” He responds tersely, peering over the edge of the roof. He hears the rumble of feet and voices floating up the stairwell behind him and realises that the time he gained from his shortcut across the roof is running out. “What’s your E.T.A? We’re on the clock here.”

“Turning the corner now, give me a minute. Calm down.”

“Do you have a team of people trying to put a bullet in you? No? Don’t tell me to calm down,” he snaps just as the door to the stairwell bursts open.

He spins around and lets two arrows loose, watching with satisfaction as they embed themselves in the two guards up front, taking them down swiftly.

“Digg, any time now would be _great_ ,” he hisses, ducking behind an air vent as bullets start whizzing past him.

“I’m here, Oliver, ready whenever you are,” Diggle tells him.

Oliver grunts in acknowledgement and sucks in a breath as he darts out of cover, sprinting towards the edge of the roof. Reaching back into his quiver, he pulls out a grappling arrow and nocks it, taking a millisecond to aim and then lets it fly as he leaps into the air.

Just as he swings off the roof, a stray bullet grazes his right calf, and he winces as the searing pain licks up his leg.

“Right on top of you, Digg,” he says, spying the unmarked van idling in the alley right below him. He releases the cable attached to the arrow and free-falls the last couple of metres to the ground.

The door to the van slides open as he lands a little unceremoniously on his injured leg and he scrambles in, slamming the door shut as Diggle peels away in the night.

So maybe the night didn’t go quite as planned, he muses, sighing as he lays down on the floor of the van to catch his breath. But they’ve managed to prevent another armoured truck robbery and all things considered, the nick on his leg is a small price to pay if it prevents some thugs from getting their hands on military grade weaponry.

“You alright back there?” Diggle calls out after a while, the van slowing down to a normal cruising speed once it’s clear they’re not being tailed.

“Yeah, great,” he sits up, glancing down at his leg. “Bullet grazed my leg, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Good. Your phone’s blowing up by the way.”

He tosses the device into the back and Oliver catches it with ease. He flips it open, expecting it to be Tommy once again urging him to go to some club or party - but he’s pleasantly surprised to find out the messages aren’t from him.

_‘How’d the ‘hunt’ go?’_

_'Did you get what you were looking for?’_

_'I’m expecting that bottle of wine if you did.’’_

_‘Oh, I didn’t realise how late it is, hope I didn’t wake you!’_

_‘If you’re seeing this in the morning, good morning, and I hope you ‘won’!’_

He’s not that dumb. He detects the subtle dig at his blatant lie in her messages, but much like this morning, she doesn’t seem to be too bothered about it for some reason. Which, in all honesty, should be concerning.

But he’s still running on an adrenaline high, and coupled with the lightness he’s feeling from reconciling with Felicity (they’re _texting_ now!), he finds it really easy to shove his trepidation aside and shifts to the front of the van to speak to his partner.

“Hey Dig, let’s call it a night. We can deal with the fallout of all of this tomorrow.”

Diggle gives him a curious side-long glance. “Really? No debrief tonight?”

Oliver climbs into the passenger seat and nods. “Yeah, just drop me off at the Foundry and I’ll get my leg cleaned up. You head home, alright?”

* * *

 If he’s tallying up the score - which he totally isn’t, by the way - he’s currently three for three in terms of ‘Stupid Things Oliver Queen Can Do In One Day’.

The first being getting Felicity to decrypt the drive for him - as Diggle has repeatedly told him over the course of the evening. Then blatantly lying to her about it, which, since he’s trying to get back into her good graces, is really a huge step backwards. And now, stupid thing number three, he’s hovering outside her townhouse with a bottle of wine, in the middle of the night like a creepy stalker.

To be fair, her last text message, _‘Actually, if your sleeping habits are what they used to be like, then good afternoon!’_ was sent only ten minutes ago, so she’s probably still awake. He stares at her front door, sucks in a breath and rings the doorbell.

He’s about to ring it again after a minute without a response, but then the door swings open and he’s greeted by the most adorable sight he’s ever seen in his life.

Her hair’s down, falling in loose, wavy curls around her shoulder, glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose as she stares wide-eyed at him. Her baggy purple sweater has a bunch of ones and zeros all over it and her pajama pants are peppered with little sausage dogs.

“Oliver! Hi!” she exclaims, blinking rapidly like she’s trying to figure out if he’s real or not. “You’re... here. At midnight. Not that that’s a problem, because I was awake anyway, and you’d know that because I just sent you a text and so... right. You’re here.”

Oliver crinkles his nose, shaking his head at the rush of words tumbling from her lips. He holds up the bottle of wine he had carefully hand picked from the Queen family cellar. 

“I’m sorry for just dropping in, but uh, I have your share of the winnings.”

Her jaw falls open. “Oh. Like... I thought... There was actually wine involved? Actual, good wine?”

Smirking, he tucks the bottle under his arm and then brings up his other hand clutching the paper bag of burgers he picked up from Big Belly on the way over. “And your favourite burger.”

“Wow, um, okay, come right in then. Burgers and wine, perfect midnight snack,” she murmurs, stepping aside to let him past.

The entryway leads right into her living room and he looks around to take it all in. Her place is nice. Homely. He spies a few boxes still taped up and unpacked in the corner of the living room, but for the most part, it looks like she’s settled in well. Her television is turned on, whatever’s playing paused on a still of a rather menacing half-naked man snarling at a blonde girl.

He sets the bottle and the paper bag down on the table in front of her couch. It looks like she’s already had a glass of wine for herself, a corkscrew lying on her table next to an near empty bottle of red.

“Why are you limping, Oliver?”

Damn, he should have seen that coming. He turns around and she has her arms crossed in front of her, lips pressed together, an unscrutinsable expression on her face. “Did you trip over yourself _again_?”

He swallows. “Um, yes?”

"In the... same bad neighbourhood where you fell and hurt your jaw two weeks ago?”

She’s looking at him all weird again, but he stands his ground. “Yup. The very same one. Lots of potholes. Like I said, bad neighbourhood.”

“You sure spend lots of time in that area, don’t you?” she snarks. “And you’re really clumsy for someone who survived five whole years on a desolate, probably bear infested island. How’d you manage to stay alive if you were tripping all over the place?” Then her eyes bug out and she slaps her hand to her mouth, shaking her head. “Sorry! I didn’t mean - I wasn’t thinking... too soon?”

Laughter bubbles out of him, and she visibly relaxes once she realises he’s not offended. “No, not too soon, and there were no bears on Lian Yu. Lots of um... other unpleasant things, but no bears, no.”

The admission slips out of him easily, and it strikes him that it’s the first time he’s volunteered information about the island, instead of having it pried out of him. He blinks at her, surprised at himself, and notices that the same stunned expression is on Felicity’s face.

He twists his fingers in his hands, then makes a split second decision. “It’s probably not the best time, but... um, I can tell you about some of not so unpleasant parts, another time maybe?”

“Oh... that’s... yeah. Maybe when it’s not the middle of night when we’re both exhausted?” Felicity bites her lip, and a small smile graces her features. “I’d really like that.”

The weight of the conversation and the implication of what they’ve agreed to is almost stifling. When Felicity eventually tears her gaze away from him to dig through the paper bag, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

Felicity fishes out the Deluxe Triple Cheese burger he got for her and coos in delight. She unwraps it eagerly and inhales. “You remembered!”

“‘Course I remember. You wouldn’t eat anything else when you were finally allowed solids after you had your wisdom teeth taken out. I had to drive all over Vegas trying to find a Big Belly for you because you screamed at me that one time I got the wrong burger.”

It’s a fond memory for him, being allowed to dote on her for an entire week while she nursed the (in _his_ opinion, not that serious) three stitches in her mouth. She’s usually so independent and headstrong that he really milked the opportunity to take care of her then, pandering to her every need - much to her mother’s amusement.

It had easily been the one of the best weeks of his life.

“Ugh, what a miserable time. I have _scars_ ,” she mumbles around a bite of her burger. Clearly, she has a very different memory of that entire ordeal.

She waves her free hand towards her kitchen before she presses play and her television blares to life. “Glasses are in the cupboard over there. Grab one and share this obnoxiously expensive bottle of wine with me.”

Secretly relieved that she’s allowing him to stay despite the late hour, he does as he’s told and quickly finds a glass for himself. She’s already uncorked the wine when he returns to the couch, holding the bottle out to him so he can get his fill. When he’s done, he sits down on the couch next to her, careful to keep a respectful distance between them.

Hope unfurls in him like a budding flower in spring, stubbornly ignoring the pesky voice in his head that tells him ‘ _she has a boyfriend_ ’ over and over again. They’re just old friends catching up after a long time apart. Platonic friends. And there’s nothing wrong with sharing a couple of glasses of wine between friends.

“Wanna know something interesting?” Felicity asks after a few minutes of silence while they finish their burgers. She brings her legs up, folding it under her as she turns to him, settling into the corner of her couch.

“Yeah, sure.” He brings the wine glass to his lips and takes a slow sip. Savours the taste of it on his tongue. He feels his entire body relax, something that doesn’t happen often these days.

But being here with her is different. He feels safe somehow. Possibly because he associates so much goodness with her, so many happy memories and just being happy in general, that his body recognises that she’ll pose no danger to him. 

“I thought this would be weird,” she starts, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and pushing her glasses up her nose. “Me and you, I mean. Starting over after... everything.”

He’ll never get over stabbing guilt that grips him whenever she brings up his dickead move of leaving her. He really wants a chance to explain himself, desperate for it, but he’s decided to take his cues from her and she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it, so he won’t. But wow, does he really want to.

“But it’s not. Weird. For me, at least,” she continues, then purses her lips. “Is _that_ weird? That it’s not? I thought it would take more time to get back to the way things were, but now I kinda just wanna tell you about my day, and sharing a midnight snack with you feels like the most natural thing in the world because we used to do this all the time. But you said so yourself, you’re not the same guy anymore, and I’m not the same person anymore either, so it should feel different but -”

“But it doesn’t.”

She nods. “It doesn’t.”

He gets it. He really does. Their history with each other is undeniably complicated, spanning long distances, so much time, and him being in his own version of literal hell for so long, and yet here they are again, sipping wine and reminiscing, almost as if no time has passed at all, as if he never broke her heart.

“Is that okay with you?” he asks tentatively. “That it’s not weird?”

“I suppose. You still have to tell me why you’ve suddenly become so clumsy.” She eyes him warily but with a hint of a smirk on her lips. “But I think I’m okay with it.”

“That’s good. I’m... glad.”

And he is, because everything feels _right_. For the first time in six months, the puzzle pieces of his post-island life are finally slotting together to form a picture that he can finally make some sense of. And all it took was for her to walk back into it.

Even with the complications of him being the vigilante, and the secrets he has to keep from her, he feels good. Lighter, somehow. The gnawing darkness he brought back with him from the island slowly diminishing with every second he spends around her.

He sinks into her couch, draping an arm around the back and raises his glass at her T.V., frowning at the foreign language being spoken. Why are there so many horses in one scene?  “So, what are we watching?”

Felicity lets out a strangled sound, clearly affronted at his question. She unfolds her feet and crawls across her couch so she can smack him gently against his head.

“Are you serious?”

“Um. I... yes?”

“ _Game of Thrones_ , Oliver.”

He stares at her dumbly. Does she really think he has time to catch up on everything he’s missed out on? Even if he did, weird, horse-centric television shows would be so very far down his list.

“That means nothing to me.”

“Oh my god, we’re starting from the beginning then. God, you’re so hopeless!”

She scrambles around, setting up the episodes, then getting off the couch and disappearing for a second before returning with a giant fleece blanket.

“Hope you have nothing else to do for the rest. of. the. weekend.” She grins before plopping down right next to him. She’s warm and soft and so cuddly next to him that he can’t help curling his arm around her when she finally settles down.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over the curve of her shoulder in slow, soothing back and forth movements.

It doesn’t even faze her. In fact, she snuggles further into him, like she’s desperate to absorb his body heat and Oliver swears he feels the tingle of want and desire right down to his toes.

“Yeah, yeah, shh, just shut up and pay attention, Oliver.”

* * *

  **Six months ago**

He wakes up dry.

He’s _dry_.

His shirt isn’t soaked through with condensation, or sweat or _blood_ \- in fact, he cracks an eye open and runs his hand down his body - he’s not even _wearing_ a shirt.  

Because he’s home.

And waking up in among sheets so soft it feels strange against his skin after so many years of being deprived of such luxuries.

“Ollie!”

He jumps at the voice, leaping out of the bed, on instant alert. He falls into a fighting stance on instinct, casting his eyes around the room, only to find Thea staring back at him, bewildered, curled up in an armchair in the corner.

“Thea,” he breathes out, relaxing as he sinks back down onto the bed. “I’m sorry. I just...”

“Oh no, Ollie, don’t be sorry,” his sister cuts him off hurriedly. She peels herself off of the armchair and walks over to him, albeit a little hesitantly. “The doctor said to be gentle, I just forgot.”

She looks so small, so unsure, fidgeting with her fingers and it makes him feel so guilty for having scared her. “It’s okay,” he tells her, patting the space next to him. “It’ll take some getting used to, being around people again. But it’s okay. Come sit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Speedy, I’m sure.” Using the nickname he’d given her seems to do the trick as her face breaks open into a smile. She accepts his invitation and sits down, taking his hand in hers and clutching it tightly.

“Mom said not to disturb you, but you were having a nightmare and I wanted to check if you were okay. And then I just... stayed,” she explains. She looks up at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re _here,_ Ollie _._ ”

“Sometimes I can’t believe it either,” he mumbles into her hair, kissing her forehead affectionately. “I’m so glad to be home, you have no idea.”

He thought maybe reintegrating into society would have been difficult, and for the most part, it has been, but he finds that being around his family has been easier than expected. Thea, especially, has been a welcome presence, having missed his little sister so much, missed seeing her grow up into the young woman she is now.

He’s only been back a few days, and this is the first time he’s actually had time to speak to her alone, without his mother or the various doctors hovering nearby.

It feels nice.   

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but um, you can tell me when you’re ready. About the island.” Thea asks, haltingly.

He doesn’t want to. The idea of telling her about the horror and the brutality of what he’s had to endure makes him sick to the stomach. She’s his baby sister. Untainted and unmarked by the darkness, and he’s not going to be the one to expose her to it.

“I’m okay, Thea. I’ll work through it on my own,” he assures her. He squeezes her hand then, pulling her closer to him.

“Okay, but I’m here for you,” she insists. “Mom can be overbearing and the doctors are annoying so if you need... someone who’s not _them_. I’m here.”

He’s filled with so much gratitude, marveling at how grown up she is now. She’s no longer the twelve year old girl hanging onto his every word, with her watery eyes and quivering lips, pleading with him to take her to Boston every time he has to leave.

_Boston._

Oliver stills at the thought. He - he’s thought about _her_ , of course, but with everyone and everything closing in on him the moment he stepped back into Starling, he hasn’t been able to -

“Ollie?” Thea peers up at him curiously, having sensed his sudden change in demeanor.

He licks his lips, blinks few times and exhales. “Have you... have you heard from Felicity?”   

Oh, wow. He hasn’t said her name out loud in so long, it feels foreign on his tongue. Almost as if he’d been subconsciously punishing himself because he doesn’t deserve to say her name. His jaw clenches at the thought, because he really doesn’t. Deserve her. Because he _left_ her.

He can’t imagine what it must have been like, to have him leave without any explanation and nothing but a broken promise of _loving_ her, and then disappearing for five years. Suddenly, he finds himself spirlling, heart aching with regret for the girl he once loved so much.

 _Still_ loves.  

“Um... I kinda heard from her.”

“Kinda?” He blinks at her. “What... what does kinda mean?”

Thea scoots away, leaving a sliver of space between them as she plays with the hem of her pajama shirt. When she looks up at him, remorse shines in her eyes and he’s filled with dread, bracing himself for whatever she’s about to tell him.

“Felicity was at your funeral. Um, your fake one I guess, since you’re not really dead. She stood right at the back, like she didn’t want anyone to know she was there. I saw her by chance, only because the whole thing was so awful and I wanted to leave.”

She takes a breath, but he doesn’t say anything, sensing that there’s more to the story.

“She was... alone, standing near this tree, crying... and I... Oh, god Ollie, I totally lost it at her.”

He leans back, tilting her chin up with his pointer. “You... you lost it?”

“I... She was the last person you saw alive, the last person you were with who wasn’t on that stupid boat, and she couldn’t even bring herself to be up there with us.Tommy was there, and Laurel, but Felicity just stood at the back and it made me so angry, Ollie.”

“She was your best friend. She was like a _sister_ to me, and if I hadn’t turned around at the right time, or wanted to leave, I wouldn’t have even seen her. So I cornered her, told her she was... a horrible person. I screamed at her over and over, blamed her for you leaving, and she just stood there and took it.”

Oliver rocks back, devastated at the revelation 

“She just stood there, crying, and didn’t say a word. Not even to defend herself, and... it just made me angrier. Then I told her if she couldn’t be there for us, for me, then she should just never come back.”

The looming dread only grows the more Thea speaks. He doesn’t blame her for lashing out, doesn’t blame Felicity, really, considering how he left things with her. But knowing this - knowing that he’s caused so much pain for the two most important women in his life, completely wrecks him.

“Thea, it’s not - I’m sure she doesn’t hold it against you,” he whispers, tucking her under his chin, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“I tried calling her, maybe after a year? I don’t remember. I knew she was graduating, so I thought maybe I’d give her a call but she changed numbers or something. Next thing I know, I’m hearing about this crazy young, genius C.E.O, breaking glass ceilings, forming her own company and it was _her_ , and I just didn’t want to... didn’t want to bother her, you know? I feel terrible about it, Ollie. I should have been nicer. We both loved you. She loved you too, you know?”

I know, he wants to say. She screamed it at him, actually, in a fit of anger and frustration. Then they kissed and it had felt like he was flying.

But he merely nods, unable to find the right words to comfort her. He doesn’t think Thea expects him to; she’s just unloading on him, and he’ll very gladly allow her to do so. He wonders long she’s been keeping this to herself, if she’s told anyone other than him about all the guilt she’s harbouring.

What else has she been keeping to herself?

So much pain. He’s caused everyone _so much pain_.

But what was it Thea had said? _Young, genius C.E.O_. That definitely sounds like Felicity. He’s proud of her. _So_ proud of her. She must have flown through the accelerated program despite her misgivings and she’s finally receiving the recognition she deserves.

“Do you think she’ll come back now?” Thea asks, her voice muffled as she presses her face against his chest. “Because you’re here?” 

“I don’t know, Thea,” he murmurs 

“You should call her. Tell her you want to see her. You do want to see her, don’t you?” she persists. “Then I can make things right again. I miss her, Ollie.”

Of course he wants to see her. He thought about her almost every day, holds on to the image of her smiling face, the dimple that forms in her cheeks when she’s truly happy, the tangents she goes off on when she babbles to him about everything under the sun.

On some of his bleakest days, when he’d been so close to just giving up, he thought of all the time they spent together, staring up at the stars she loved so much, all the long hours in the library where he quizzed her before her tests. Every memory he has of her helped him survive.

She helped bring him home.

But he can’t see her. He won’t call her. Not yet.

Not when he’s still so broken, tainted by so much darkness. He left her when she’d been at her most vulnerable, ripped her happiness from her, and then left her hanging. She deserved better. Better than Ollie Queen from his past, and definitely better than the sorry mess of a man he is right now, with a list of names burning a hole in the pocket of the ratty hood he’d brought back with him.

She deserves so much better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for your very, very kind words and comments about this story so far. I read them all, even if I don't reply to each one individually. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much!!
> 
> Twitter: @estheryam


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are unraveling. Slowly.

“Oliver Queen, I’m going to _kill_ you!”

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest and he doesn’t have time to react before his office door flies open. Very quickly, he shoots an alarmed look at Diggle but the other man merely shrugs, a small smirk on his face.

Some bodyguard _he_ is.  

Felicity storms angrily into his office, barely pausing to slam his door shut in front of his assistant’s apologetic face. She’s holding a thick folder in her hands, her fingernails (purple, he notes with interest, to match the pretty dress she has on today) digging sharply into cover.

If he’s learned anything from being surrounded by women for most his life, he can avoid most arguments by charming his way out of them with a smile, so he grins widely at her, hoping his nervousness doesn’t show.

“Felicity, hey!”

“Don’t _hey_ me,Oliver!”

She throws the folder at him and he has to lunge out of his seat to avoid getting hit, stumbling unceremoniously around his desk. He catches the folder by the tips of his fingers as a few sheets of paper flutter out.

Okay, the theatrics are a bit much, even for her. He straightens up and collects the loose sheets of paper, clutching them in his hand. “Felicity, what the _hell?_ ”  

Anger flashes from behind her glasses and she gestures wildly to the paper in his hand. “Where were you this morning?!” 

He tears his eyes away from her - a huge effort, actually, since an irate Felicity equals a really _hot_ Felicity; eyes blazing, chest heaving, biting her bottom lip like if she doesn’t, she’ll keep yelling at him - and looks down at crumpled sheet in his hand. 

He cringes at the big bold words staring back at him.

‘ _Smoak Technologies - Queen Consolidated - Board Meeting Agenda.'_

“Ah. Crap...” he mumbles, face falling as guilt floods through him. The meeting they scheduled with the Queen Consolidated Board of Directors. The meeting which - he glances at his watch - ended fifteen minutes ago, and he’d completely missed. He exhales, squaring his shoulders, preparing to grovel at her feet.

He walks up to her, wide eyed and apologetic. “I... things came up and it slipped my mind. I’m _so_ sorry. Felicity, believe me -”

“Things came up? Are you kidding, Oliver?” Felicity’s voice booms around him and from the corner of his eye, he sees Diggle wincing at the volume. “You hung me out to dry in front of your _entire_ board of directors!”

“I um-”

“Where were you?!” she demands again, but doesn’t give him a chance to answer before barreling on. “I called you last night to remind you about it, and again this morning but both times they went straight to your stupid voicemail! Your assistant didn’t know where you were, Thea didn’t know where you were, I waited for you and stalled for as long as I could but you just didn’t show up, like Ba- ”

She jerks back and her mouth slams shut, catching herself just in time.

_Like Bali._

She doesn’t have to say it out loud but she might as well have. They’ve managed to stay well clear of _that_ topic for so long - a whole month, to be exact - and it’s telling just how angry she is that she’s slipping up now. She’s quick to school her features but for a second, he sees the flash of the betrayal in her eyes and it _guts_ him. Didn’t he promise her he’d be better? Didn’t he promise _himself_ that he’d be better? The shame he feels at letting her down again is almost unbearable and if the floor were to open up and swallow him whole right now it would be a welcome punishment.  

How many times has he convinced himself he’s no longer the idiot boy, pre-island Oliver Queen? And yet here he is, hurting the one person he never wanted to hurt ever again.

Swallowing the bitter tinge of self-loathing, he tries hard but finds nothing in his arsenal of bad excuses that can possibly make the situation any better. He’d been out all night as the Hood, trying to dismantle a fairly sophisticated drug ring distributing Vertigo throughout the city. Which, unfortunately, had dragged on til the early hours of the morning and he’d stumbled home with barely enough time to change and head right back out to work.  

“My phone died,” he croaks out. It’s the truth, and it’s the only part of the night he can tell her that isn’t a blatant lie. “I... didn’t -”

Felicity waves a hand to stop him before he can get another apology out, then clears her throat and looks at Diggle, who has remained studiously silent through the entire exchange.

“John, can you give us the room? Please?”

“Oh, thank god. _Gladly_ ,” Diggle lets free a sigh of relief. “I’ll be back once you two sort this out. Felicity, nice to see you again.”  

When Diggle leaves, stepping quickly out of sight and taking his assistant with him, Felicity rolls her neck, letting her eyes flutter shut for a quick second then opens them again.  

“I had to answer questions about your company’s budgets and projections and pull some ridiculous numbers out of thin air to cover for your missing ass. And then I had to talk about things I really shouldn’t know about because I _don’t work for you,_ in case you’ve forgotten, but lucky for me I managed to get into your servers bef-”

“You hacked into our servers?”

The glare she gives him is enough to shut him up. “You have something to say about that, Oliver? Because I wouldn’t have had to, if you were there like you were supposed to be. I had my part all ready to go. But they’re more interested in the Queen Consolidated side of things, naturally, being you know, the company’s board of directors and all, but you were out gallivanting -”

“I -  wha - I wasn’t out _gallivanting!_ ” he sputters indignantly, fingers twitching. Damn it, he took down three armed men with nothing but his bare hands and then some more with his bow - he’ll show her _gallivanting_.  

“Right, so where _were_ you then?” She inches closer. She may be tiny compared to him, but the force of her glare, coupled with the fact that she’s downright scary when she’s like this, makes him want to cower behind his desk.

“What was so important that you couldn’t remember to charge your phone, or come into work on time, or have my back at the meeting _you_ called for _your_ board of directors? I swear to god, Oliver, if you were out party-"

“I wasn’t partying!” Oliver growls. Then realising that he’s going to get nowhere if all he does is tell her what he _wasn’t_ doing, he holds both his hands up, palms out. Surrendering.

“Well?” Felicity prompts. “What flimsy excuse are you going to use on me this time? Fell down another _pothole?_ ” She seethes, making quotation marks with her fingers, “and you couldn’t climb your way back out?”

He wrings his hands together, trying to formulate a semi-decent answer for once. He does feel horrible about his stupid stories, every lie like a sharp needle stabbing his already compromised, tattered heart.

“Something really important came up last night,” he tells her, pleading with her with his eyes to believe him. “I can’t... it’s not something I can talk about, but it was an honest mistake and I would have - I would have been there, Felicity, if it were any other day, I would have been there this morning, right beside you.”

Felicity pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Important. Okay. You’re really not going to tell me, huh?”

The fight seeps out of her, her shoulders slumping forward. She slides into the big chair in front of his desk, crossing her legs as she makes herself comfortable.

Oh. This version of her - quiet and stewing Felicity might be worse than angry Felicity.

Anger, he can take. He’ll stand there and let her flay him forever if that’s what it takes to make it up to her. But when she gets all silent and contemplative like this, retreating into her protective shell, he doesn’t know how to deal with it. Her face is carefully shuttered, devoid of any emotion.

When she speaks, its with a sad lilt in her voice, like she’s resigned herself to being disappointed by him. Again.

Yeah, this is _way_ worse.

“I counted on you to be there. If I knew I was going to be flying solo, if you gave me a heads up, it would have been fine. But you _didn’t_. You made me think we were going into this together and I believed you, then bailed on me. And you won’t even tell me _why._ ”

“I’m so sorry,” Oliver repeats. He hates this. They’ve made so much progress recently, having had four movie marathons, two that lasted entire weekends, and numerous shared meals, and he’s gone and ruined it all. He clenches and unclenches his fists. “I... It won’t happen again.”

Felicity hums, eyes looking everywhere but at him, disbelieving. They descend into silence and he makes his way around to the other side of his desk to sit in his own chair. The awkwardness eats at him and Felicity makes no move to leave so he’s really at a loss as to what to do.

“Um, so how did it go?” he tries, unable to take the stifling tension simmering between them. “The meeting.”

“Oh, now you care,” Felicity mutters with a slight tilt of her head. Then she sighs and leans back. “Not so good, to be honest.”

“I’m -”

“Saying you’re sorry again isn’t going to magically fix this, Oliver.” She scowls at him. “I couldn’t tell if they bought what I was saying. They were happy enough with my R & D progress reports, but when they asked about you know, _your parts_... the money and the return on investment... I uh. Kind of made it up as I went along. Got into your financial software, hacked it on the fly and threw some numbers out there. So yeah... I don’t know.”

She sounds so defeated. Felicity hates failing at anything so he understands where she’s coming from. Kind of. He’s never really shared her need for perfection in every aspect of his life, but he figures it might be similar to the feeling he gets when an arrow misses an easy target - not the same, but he understands.

“I’ll fix this,” he tells her with a determined nod. He’s already flicking through his work calendar, looking for a free slot where he can call another meeting which he will absolutely not miss. “I’ll make sure everything’s sorted out, Felicity.”

He glances up from his screen when she doesn’t respond. “I _will_ ,” he insists.

“It’s not that I don’t think you will, Oliver,” Felicity says heavily and he wishes that instead of archery skills, he’d picked up mind reading on Lian Yu. He would give anything to know what’s going on in her beautiful, genius brain right now. She doesn’t seem angry anymore, which bodes what for him, he doesn’t know, but he still doesn’t like the look on her face. Half sad, half frustrated - all because of him.  

Her teeth gnaw on her bottom lip and despite himself, he can’t help but zero in on the tiny movement. It’s her tell, a nervous tick that he remembers from their childhood. Only now it’s more sexy and hot than adorable and he has to force himself to not stare at her lips while she speaks.   

“It’s just that this is my company we’re talking about. My baby. And it really _is_ still a baby. Our future is on the line here, and I know this whole... C.E.O thing... has never been something you’re interested in but maybe if you could try harder... _wait_.”

She stops short, lurching forward in her chair so suddenly she almost falls over. Bewildered, Oliver stands up, instinctively reaching out to her, only to bump his hips painfully against the edge of his desk that’s in the way. Right. Idiot.  

“Oliver...” She hisses, fingers splayed wide on his desk.

“What, what’s wrong?” He scans her face for signs of distress but all he gets is a the strange furrowing of her brow, and then she’s staring back at him so intensely he swears her eyes are gleaming with intrigue.

“Oliver, whats that?” She points to something on his desk, and when he follows her finger his heart drops and alarm bells go off in his head.

Damn it, _damn it_.

Nestled between the mess on his table is the syringe of Vertigo that he’d nicked off the men he staked out last night. He didn’t have time to stash it before Felicity had come storming in to his office and now her gaze is alternating between staring at him and at the syringe and he panics.

“Felicity, it’s not what you think.” It comes out in a rush, which only seems to make things worse.  

“And what exactly am I thinking, Oliver?” She leans back, folding her arms over her chest. Her eyes are bright, the simmering fury and disappointment all but gone now, replaced with... curiosity? Intrigue? He shakes his head - _so_ not the time to be waxing poetic about her eyes.

“That... uh,” he chances a glance at the syringe again, heart thudding beneath his chest. “That I’m doing drugs?”

“Are you?” she asks, slowly crossing one leg over the other. She unfolds her hands, readjusts the skirt of her dress and fixes him with a gaze so stern it feels like he’s being interrogated by the S.C.P.D. - something he has more than his fair share of experience with.

“It’s not drugs,” he mumbles. Then meets her intense gaze, berating himself mentally for the words about to fall from his lips. “It’s an energy drink.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “In a syringe.”

“Ran out of sports bottles.”

“Really?” She quirks an eyebrow as an amused smirk ghosts over her lips.

“Really.”

She’s reaches out over his desk, too quick for him, and her fingers wrap around the syringe before he can stop her. He makes an embarrassing whining noise in the back of his throat but Felicity ignores him.

“So it’s totally fine if I just...” She twirls it in her hand, flicking the stem twice, teasing. “Drink this then? Since that stupid meeting totally drained me of _all_ my energy.”

Instantly alarmed, he stands up and rounds the table to stand next to her chair, snatching it out of her fingers. “No!” He grunts. “This isn’t... a toy, Felicity.”

“Oliver Jonas Queen,” Felicity drawls as she gets to her feet as well, never breaking eye contact with him, an air of danger about her. Her entire demeanor morphs into one of complete confidence, and he realises with dread that he is looking at _‘I’m solving a mystery right this minute’_ Felicity and it’s... not good for him.

“What have you been up to?” she murmurs quietly, almost to herself. “Tripping over your feet, falling into potholes, doing drugs...”

“I’m not doing drugs,” he mutters. Then off her smirk, growls and inches just a little closer  “And you _know_ it. Don’t even -”

“Don’t even what?” she mocks, then her eyes cut to the syringe in his hand. “Don’t take energy drinks?”

Okay, wait - how did they end up standing so close together? Barely inches apart, he can see the flecks of gold in her blue irises, shining in the morning light with mischief. She’s reminding him so much of the younger version of herself, taunting and teasing and it’s so _hot_ and inappropriate that he has to suck in a deep breath to calm himself down before he does something stupid like _kiss_ her.

Felicity doesn’t even falter, oblivious to the effect her proximity has on him. Her fingers skims up his chest, then slowly glides up his tie. She hums an unidentifiable tune under her breath and when he fingers make it to his collar, she pulls down on the knot.

“You know what I read on the news morning, Oliver?” Her voice drops into an almost whisper, and it feels like a gentle caress of silk over his soul. Her lips are so close to his face, so close, pink and supple and _oh my god_ he’s going to -

“That a certain someone else in Starling is a little obsessed with this... _energy drink_.”

Alarm bells. So loud. Alarm bells going off in his head. Diggle’s going to murder him. He stumbles back and away from her wandering fingers.

“Oh - Oh yeah?” He stammers. Plays stupid.

“Mm hmm,” She’s grinning now, and she plucks the syringe easily out of his fingers. Then in a dramatic whisper, “The _vigilante_ , Oliver.”  

“I don’t -”

“I’m not an idiot.” She hops onto his desk, pouts, then points the syringe at him.

“But you, better than anyone else, already knows that _,_ and yet you still told me the worst, most ridiculous lies, and I wondered, so many times, _what’s he hiding?_  Why is he being so weird all of a sudden? And I figured maybe you were taking like, self-defence classes or something, and you were embarrassed? But what for, because you’re probably really good at it what with your muscles and stuff right? Because your body - like wow - I mean, _wow_. Last week,when you used my shower during movie night and you walked out in my towel, I swear I -”

“Felicity, _your point?_ ”

His nerves are so frayed, and he swears the vein in his temple is about to pop because if she doesn’t tell him exactly what she thinks she’s figured out, he’s going to actually punch something and then how’s he supposed to deny _anything_ after that?

“Oh. Yes, right.”

The blush that creeps up her neck would be endearing, adorable even, if he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied by the potentially disastrous possibility of her knowing what his secret is.

“The vigilante, this Hood guy - you’re _helping_ him, aren’t you?”

Oliver chokes. Actually chokes. Splutters and coughs and has to thump his chest a few times before gulping in a huge mouthful of air.

 _Helping_ the Hood. OH, she thinks -

“You think I’m helping him?”  

Felicity rolls her eyes as she holds up three fingers. “The scavenger hunt drive that had information on the transportation of military grade weapons, which the Hood used - don’t give me that look, Oliver, I know he used the information I gave you - to stop it being robbed.” She folds her middle finger down.

“You turn up bruised and injured all over, usually around the same time the Hood’s been spotted arrowing bad guys for whatever reason.” She tucks in another finger.

“And now you have _this,”_ she tosses the syringe up in the air with her free hand, attempting to catch it as it falls, but misses and proceeds to squeal when she jumps off his desk to avoid getting jabbed by the needle.

“Jesus, Felicity,” he grunts, rushing forward to pick it up off the ground. “Be careful, will you?”

“Well. Like I was saying, you have that, which we _both_ know is a sample of the drug that the Hood is trying to keep off the streets. So...” Her hand forms a full fist and she does a cute mini fist pump into the air. “You’re helping the Hood.”  

She looks so pleased with herself because she thinks she’s solved her mystery, cheeks dimpling around her wide smile. “Tell me I’m wrong,” she sings at him. “C’mon.”

Oliver’s relieved. He’s really just so relieved. “Felicity...”

“Is that why you were late? You were with the Hood?” she asks, with something like excitement laced through her words. “Does he need help tracking down the origin of the drug, is that why he gave you the Vertigo? Because Queen Consolidated has the tech to do that?”

He blinks at her dumbly, mainly because she’s actually managed to figure out exactly why he took the Vertigo with him and it’s... both scary and fascinating that she’s so smart. _God_.

“Uh, yeah. That’s... yeah. The reason I was late,” he tells her. It’s not exactly a lie. He’s just going to not address her slight misunderstanding.

Are omissions of facts technically lies? He’s sure Laurel’s yelled at him about it at some point while they were dating, spouting legal jargon whenever she can just to piss him off.

Not that he remembers what the outcome of that debate is.

“Well, I forgive you then,” Felicity says, startling him out of his memories. She claps her hands together, and to his surprise, pulls him into a hug. Her lips brush against his skin as she speaks, burning into him, “Because helping the Hood is cool. And amazing and _good_ , Oliver.”

She’s not freaked out, he thinks absentmindedly. Or running to the cops or telling him he’s insane - she’s _hugging_ him.

“Helping the Hood is good?” he asks with a bit of wonder in his voice. He wants to be sure. He wants _her_ to be sure.

Felicity tilts her head back just a little, smiles then nods. “Yeah, I think so. And... I like it. I like that you’re helping. Him. And this city. _Your_ city.”

He wants to tell her it’s her city too. She loves Starling, or she used to at least. He brushes off the stray thought, not wanting to dwell on the past when she’s here now - in his arms, looking at him like he’s a... _Hero_. Like she’s proud of him or something.  

Her hands curl around his neck, locking her fingers under his nape, and her body - her _entire_ body - presses up against him making his brain slow down, unable to process anything except the way she fits so well against him. Soft where he’s solid, filling the space between his arms like she just belongs there.

Oliver revels in the way her head still slots so perfectly into the hollow of his neck, her forehead skimming the sharp angle of his jaw. He breathes in the faint, yet intoxicating, smell of coconut and vanilla on her skin and tightens his arms around her.

Physical contact, other than with his family and the occasional tussle with the people he hunts down at night, have been few and far in between since he returned to Starling. Even when he goes over to Felicity’s place for their movie nights, he’s careful to keep their contact at a bare minimum, respecting boundaries, so this, this sudden, unexpected hug?

This feels like _home_.

Like driving to the outskirts of Starling to catch a comet streaking across the skies.

Like wandering around the Vegas desert confessing his sins to her because she’s the only one who doesn’t hold him to some impossible standard.

Like curling into bed with her as she nurses her very first hangover ever, whispering nonsense into her ear as she whines about blinding light and too loud noises.

It feels a lot like _love._

* * *

 ******2007**

Oliver dumps another bag of chocolate into his basket as he moves further down the aisle. He grabs a packet of Junior Mints as he passes them, lips twisting in disgust as he does so. But Felicity likes them, that weirdo, so he’ll get them anyway.

He picks up a fancy looking bar of chocolate from the ‘Just In!’ section and flips it over, scanning over the ingredients quickly.

“God, why does everything contain nuts,” he groans under his breath, putting the chocolate back before moving on. Probably for the best, honestly. Felicity likes pretty much every nut free junk food, so he needs to stop before he ends up buying everything in the confectionery aisle. His basket is already getting really heavy.

He turns around, weaving his way past the other students to make his way to the cashiers. Looking down at the pile in his basket, he starts mentally checking things off his ‘Felicity’s Favourites’ list. It’s probably too much but he’ll share them with her and she’ll probably save the rest for when she’s -

“Oh!”

He blinks into the distance as a thought forms in his head, then gets out of the line, fishing his phone out of his pocket. His thumb moves to ‘1’ on his speed dial automatically, but he hits ‘2’ instead.

" _Ollie, hey!_ ” Thea answers after the third ring. “You saved me from another boring mom lecture, thank you, thank you!”

Oliver chuckles into his phone. “You’re welcome, Speedy. I have a question for you, real quick.” 

“ _Doesn’t have to be quick_ ,” Thea says brightly, then he hears her tell their parents she has to take the call somewhere private.“ _‘Kay, whaddya need_?”

“Um, Felicity gets these crazy cramps... when she’s uh,” he turns around, makes sure no one’s around to over hear him. “When she’s on her period.”

He hears Thea snicker on the other end, and he gives her a couple of seconds to get it all out before he continues.

“She’s really stressed out with her exams right now and she won’t go rest like she usually does. I think Midol isn’t working this time either and I hate seeing her in pain. Do you know... I mean, I think maybe it’s different for every girl, but do you know if there’s anything else that can help?”  

“ _Oh, Ollie._ ” Thea’s voice takes on a weird wistful tone, and he grits his teeth in frustration.

“Thea, please. I’m like, at the store right now. Can you help or not?”

“ _So grumpy_ ,” she sing-songs. “ _Get some heat packs. Those are great. The air activated ones, not the microwavable ones so she doesn’t have to go look for a microwave all the time._ ”

“Air activated heat packs. Okay. Got it. Anything else?”

“ _Your everlasting love and support?_ ”

“Ha ha,” he mutters, wandering back down the aisles looking for what he needs.

“ _Right, I forgot, she already has that,_ ” Thea chirps. “ _Cause you love her sooo much._ ”

“Thea,” he groans. Then launches into his tried and tested spiel of, “She’s my best friend. Of course she has my love and support.”

“ _Best friend. Hah! As if. I don’t remember you ever calling me for help when you were with Laurel._ ”

That makes him stop short. Because it’s true.

He never... well. Laurel never wanted him around when it was her time of the month anyway. Something about being a total bitch and that he shouldn't see her like that ever. He never questioned it. And it’s not like sex was on the table either so he really didn’t care that Laurel wanted him gone a few days of the month. He doesn’t even know if she got cramps.

Which is the complete opposite of how Felicity is during her periods. For one thing, he _always_ knows because she makes him bake her favourite chocolate brownie and then she invites him over to watch sappy Disney movies with her because she insists she needs emotional support when she cries her eyes out.

And yeah, she gets the worst cramps and he generally just likes to be around to make sure she’s okay, and that she’s in bed and comfortable and has her pills and it’s not like it’s any trouble for him anyway, so -

“ _Ollie? Ollie, you still there?_ ”

He snaps out of it and shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” he spies the heat packs in a neat row in front of him and grabs a handful. “I got them. Thanks, Speedy. Felicity will appreciate this.”  

“ _Okay, glad I could help. But seriously. Just date already, you know?_ ”

Oliver sighs. His sister is a pest, a sweet, innocent, naive pest. “She’s my best friend,” he repeats with exasperation. 

_"And you’re an idiot, brother dearest. You should talk to her sometime. About this.”_

“Okay, we’re not doing this again. I’m hanging up now, _bye_ ,” he says a little too forcefully. He hates it when she gets like this, stubborn and smug, like she knows something he doesn’t. It’s infuriating; the subject of him and Felicity keeps coming up between them and it’s starting to get really old.   

He slides his phone into his back pocket and makes one more stop before heading back to the cashiers.

He walks down the aisle, eyes peeled for her usual brand of tampons. Not that he’s snooped or anything, but she brought a box over to his place once and stashed them in his bathroom for emergencies so he’s seen it like, a thousand times now.

Finally spotting the row of Tampax Pearls that look like the one that sits under his sink, he grabs a few boxes off the shelf - having more of them won’t hurt anyone right? - and turns around to finally leave. Only to come to face to face with a much older lady, smiling gently at him.

“That’s really sweet of you, son,” the lady croons, head nodding at his basket.

“Um, yeah. Thanks?”

“Your girlfriend is a lucky girl. God knows, my Simon won’t be caught dead anywhere near them much less buy them on his girl. You must really love her. Good for you!”

The lady walks off without another word, leaving Oliver dumbfounded, caught off-guard by the weird exchange.

He looks down at his basket slowly, taking stock of the tampons, heat packs, chocolates, various DVDs of movies she’s talked about wanting to watch after she’s done with her exams and the stupidly cute stuffed bunny he grabbed on a whim because it wore glasses and it reminded him of her and -

Oh.

_Oh._

They were right.

Thea and the strange lady. Holy _shit_ , they were right.

His heart swells, his cheeks heating up at the realisation that’s dawning on him. It hits him like a freight train, right there in the middle of the feminine products aisle, surrounded by different shades of pink and light blues.   

He’s in love.

He’s in love with Felicity Smoak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff. Yikes. Comments appreciated! 
> 
> Twitter: @estheryam


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out.

Felicity follows Oliver out of the meeting room with a spring in her step, pleased with the outcome of their latest meeting with A.R.G.U.S. All her designs have just been unanimously approved by the board, which means they can kick start the production and manufacturing phase well ahead of schedule. A perfect start to a Friday morning.

“You know, you didn’t have to make me look so bad in front of Lyla,” Oliver grumbles as he pushes the door to his office open, stepping aside to let her walk in.

Clearly, _he_ doesn’t feel the same way about the meeting as she does. Irritation rolls off him in waves and he’s frowning so hard that the lines on his forehead look like they’re etched permanently on his skin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she laughs, plopping down into the chair that she’s come to think of as hers. No one else spends as much time as she does in his office anyway so it might as well be.

Then, in an attempt to draw him out of his misery, tones down her cheer and shoots him a comforting smile. “Don’t be ridiculous, I didn’t make you look bad.”

Oliver fixes her with a suffering look, leaning his hip against the edge of his desk in front of her. “You sounded like you knew more about how Queen Consolidated operates than I do, and I’m the CEO!”

“Okay, to be fair, anyone who reads the Financial Review knows more about how your company works than you do.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

She shrugs and grins at him. His grumpiness isn’t going to get her down. Not today. Not when she’s still riding the high of scoring a huge win with her biggest client to date. She stretches her hand out, nudging his thigh aside so she can reach the bowl of candy on his desk.

“We both know s’true,” she says, tossing a few pieces of M&Ms into her mouth.

Oliver ignores her jibe at him, but stares at her disapprovingly. “Felicity, it’s ten in the morning.”

“If the next thing out of your mouth is something about me having chocolate for breakfast, I’m leaving you to read through those meeting notes on your own,” she warns, crunching into another handful of chocolatey goodness to emphasise her point.

Oliver’s mouth snaps shut and she pumps a fist in the air, triumphant.

“Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, like I said, you held your own in there, don’t worry. I’ve been doing this longer than you have, that’s all. What with the whole lost at sea, dead but not dead thing.” She bites down on her bottom lip hard as she hears herself, wincing as she drags her eyes up to meet his apologetically. “Sorry. That was tactless. As usual. Won’t happen again - except it probably will, so I should apologise right now for like, all future references to the island, maybe?”

“It’s okay, Felicity.” He says it like he means it, a little bit of his sour expression melts into a small smile. “You don’t have to censor yourself around me. You never have. And you know I like your babbling.”

He holds out the candy bowl so she doesn’t have to stretch for another handful, then (rudely, she thinks) places it on the far end of the desk out of her reach. His gaze never wavers from hers, and for what seems like the hundredth time since they were thrown together, a little shiver of _something_ travels down her spine. Warm and tingly and dangerous. Potentially explosive.

She licks her lips and rolls her neck. Okay, it’s way too early in the morning for this.

This, being the silent, unspoken game they’re playing - _have been_ playing for at least the last couple of weeks.

It goes like this: he does and says things that stoke the flame of desire deep in her soul, being the perfect gentleman, always happy to hang out with her, all broody, intense, and unwavering with his presence in her life.

Then, when she thinks he’s about to make a real, solid, tangible move, he turns ice cold and aloof, insisting on keeping his distance as if he doesn’t know his entire body isn’t a giant turn on for her, like he _hasn’t_ been trying to seduce her into falling for him all over again.

Take for example, that first impromptu TV night they had where he’d cuddled with her for hours, pressing his amazing Greek God-like body all up against hers as they binged watched Game of Thrones until the wee hours of the morning.

They fell asleep cocooned together under her thick blanket, waking up to the sun streaming into her windows, limbs tangled together, all domestic and cosy and then....

_Nothing._

He backed right off after that, like he’s playing a cruel game of chicken with her. The next couple of times he came over, he sat on the opposite end of her couch, leaving well before midnight like he’d turn into a pumpkin if he didn’t.

He also brings her lunch when he knows she’s forgotten to eat, stays late at the office with her when he doesn’t have to, and tells her that she’s amazing and remarkable every time she explains a design or a program she’s written for their project.

Only then, to have him turn down every invitation she extends to him for coffee, or dinner, or casual meet ups outside of work other than their movie nights.

Naturally, Felicity starts hating being in this weird state of being friends, but _no_ _t really_ friends, and because she wants to see if she can coerce a little bit of the Oliver she knew before to come out to play, she begins retaliating, childish as it may seem.

She starts wearing shorter dresses and tighter skirts to the office to taunt him. He pretends not to notice, but she _knows_ that he does. She catalogues every time his eyes drift to her legs when they’re talking, holds back her smug grin when she catches his reflection staring at her ass when she sashays her way out of his office.

After she finds out about his secret, finally confronting him about his flimsy, ridiculous lies, she ups the ante. Thinking that with the burden of the secret off his shoulders, he’ll be more receptive to her goading, she invades his personal space, touches him, and tries to unravel the vice-like grip he suddenly has on his self-control.

Pre-island Oliver Queen would have caved so easily. Post-island, assistant to the Hood, not too bad CEO of Queen Consolidated? He’s turning out be a tougher nut to crack.

Which, she supposes, is just as well. She did say she wanted to get to know this version of him, didn’t she? If it means using everything in her arsenal to try and break through this broody, hard-shelled Oliver Queen, then so be it.

But it’s probably not healthy, she thinks, that she’s basically locked up the whole ‘ _Oliver breaking her heart’_ situation in a little box and thrown away the key, tucking it in the deep recesses of her mind. Not healthy to just ignore it all, just because she’s intrigued by and fiercely attracted to the new and maybe improved Oliver in front of her right now.

She’s aware they have to talk about it at some point, but for now, she’s content to keep digging and peeling the layers off of _this_ Oliver Queen, island survivor, Hood associate and she’s more than happy to compartmentalise her teenage heartbreak to deal with at another time.

Besides, messing with him and trying to rile him up is proving to be way too much fun.  

“Felicity? Where’d you go? Something wrong?” Oliver asks, pulling her out of her idle ruminations. He’s giving her that soft, gentle, slightly confused look she decides is a much better look than the grumpy frown he’s been wearing on his face all morning.

“Huh, yeah. I’m here,” Felicity blinks at him, then crosses her legs one over the other, knowing that the movement will make the skirt of her dress ride up her thighs just a little.  

She watches him carefully, and sure enough, his eyes dart down to the slice of flesh slowly being revealed and she bites back a grin of satisfaction. Yeah, still got it.

“Actually, something _has_ been bothering me lately.” She glances behind her to make sure his office door is properly shut the leans forward and whispers, “How is it going with... you know, the Vertigo thing from the other day?”

Oliver visibly stiffens and the smile falls from his face. He clears his throat and pushes off the edge of the desk, walking around to settle into his own seat.  

There it is again. Hot and cold. Silly man.

“It’s fine. It’s not something you should concern yourself with.”

“You’ve figured out the compound it’s made of then? Where it’s coming from?” she prods, knowing he definitely has not.

She started keeping tabs on the Hood’s activities and sightings since she found out and it seems the vigilante’s still gunning after lowlife, nobody dealers - which logically means he _hasn’t_ figured out who’s distributing it yet.

“It’s taking time,” Oliver mutters, stubbornly not meeting her eyes. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

“If you let me help you -”

Oliver growls under his breath. Right, so irritated, grumpy Oliver is back in full force. “I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place, and I’m sorry I involved you with the thumb drive -”

“Ah, the _scavenger hunt_ ,” Felicity interjects, making air quotes with her fingers. “And yes. See? I helped with that, I can help with this too! Just tell the big guy _you_ did it, he won’t know the difference.”

“No.”

She groans. “Oliver, this is stupid. I can literally, and I mean _literally_ , sort this out for you in an hour. Less, if I’m not interrupted. Then -”

He cuts her off. “I’m - _He’s_ not dragging you into this more than he already has, Felicity. It’s dangerous.”

“It’s just as dangerous for you as it is for me! How is that different from him dragging _you_ into his whole thing?” she snaps, irate.

Frustration flashes over Oliver’s features and for a brief moment Felicity thinks he might start yelling at her but all he does is inhale, his expression remaining relatively neutral. Stoic even.

“Because it just _is,_ okay?”

She wonders whether it’s because they’re in his office with his assistant right outside, or if he’s really just that good at keeping his emotions in check despite the vein popping up in his forehead, he just huffs and turns away from her, focusing instead on whatever’s on his computer monitor in an attempt to end the conversation.

“Nice, yeah, you can get all _‘grrr’_ at me all you like, but if you think that’s going to intimidate me, think again.” Felicity scoffs. “I’ve battled my way through an industry dominated by stubborn men from the second I graduated, so you don’t scare me, Oliver.”

Her words must have struck something in him because his expression softens and his eyes flutter shut for a moment. Running a hand through his hair, he swivels around and away from his computer so he’s staring at her head on.

“I don’t - I’m not trying to scare you, Felicity. This thing with the Hood? It’s not... ideal. For anyone. I fell into this unexpectedly, but you? You’re a good person, you should not be a part of this world. You’re squeaky clean.”

Her mouth falls open. What the hell is that supposed to mean? The nerve! _“_ Excuse me _, squeaky clean?”_

“What?” He really looks surprised, like he doesn’t understand why she’s offended by the term.

“I’m not squeaky clean, Oliver. That’s so insulting! You weren’t here for the whole goth, hactivist era, fine. That was a whole other thing, and we’ll never speak of it again, but I‘m not clean. I can be dirty. I can get down and dirty with the best of them. _So_ dirty and I...” she falters when she hears herself. Cringes inwardly.

How does she manage to do this all the damn time?

“Not dirty like... _sexually_. Not that I’m a prude either, because I like a good kink just as much as any other girl, obviously, sex is so -”

Oliver makes a strangled noise in his throat, choking, and it makes her stop mid-sentence.

Oh. _Oh._

Oliver, who until thirty seconds ago had been the poster child of being in control, seems to be struggling to maintain his composure. His mouth is clenched tight, emphasising the sharp angle of his jawline. His knuckles are slowly turning white from gripping the edge of his desk and his eyes are... dark. Almost black, and she swears she can hear a slight hitch in his breathing.

Well, well, well.

Looks like he’s _not_ as unaffected as he’s pretending to be after all. The revelation causes a sly grin to stretch over her face. The attraction obviously isn’t one sided, if just the mere mention of sex can elicit such a visceral response from him.

This, she can work with.

She leans forward, tilts her head at him, pouting. “Something wrong, Oliver?”

“No.” He grunts and turns back to his computer, stony faced. “And you’re still not helping the Hood.”

An idea starts to form in her head. “What if I propose a quid pro quo?”

He side-eyes her. “Nothing you say can change my mind.”

“Okay, but you know that cocktail networking thing your mother organised and is forcing you go to tonight?” She stretches her legs out, tapping her heels against his shiny floor. “That you really don’t want to because you hate playing nice with all the snooty Starling City businessmen attending?”

“What about it?”

She drops her voice, licks her lips for sheer measure in case he’s watching her in his peripheral vision. “What if I come with you?”

 _That_ gets his attention. He narrows his eyes at her, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

“You said, and I quote, _‘I’d sooner use Internet Explorer for the rest of my life than go to this thing, good luck, Oliver!_ ’ when you got the invitation.”

“One, I do not sound like that. Two, when I got the invitation, I didn’t know I could use it as leverage. Three, I just bought a really nice dress that I want to take out for a spin.” She curls her fingers along the hem of her skirt and tugs on it with the pretext of adjusting the length.

She doesn’t miss how Oliver’s gaze drifts down before sliding back up to meet her eyes. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, slowly, and Oliver’s Adam’s Apple bobs in his throat as he swallows at the sight.  

“So, whaddya say, Oliver? I’ll wear my pretty dress and come tonight to keep you company if you let me help with the Vertigo?” She tilts her head, pouts even more, then gnaws on her bottom lip.

“Why is this so important to you, Felicity?” Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose as he slumps back in his seat. “So important that you’d give up a relaxing night at home to rub shoulders with boring businessmen with me.”  

“Because if I can help get this drug off the streets then I want to do it.” She answers easily.

She’s been thinking about it a lot over the past week, ever since she found out his secret. The Hood’s methods leave a lot to be desired, but he’s essentially cleaning up the streets of Starling, something the S.C.P.D doesn’t seem to be able to do on their own, so she’s decided she’s definitely on Team Hood, and she just wants to _help_.

“Also because I hate mysteries. And you suck at technology.” She adds with a smirk.

Oliver doesn't react to her subtle dig at him, but instead fixes her with a serious, contemplative look. Which, really, is better than the outright _‘No’s_ he’s given her thus far so maybe she’s managed to change his mind?

“You’ll be by my side all night?” he asks eventually, sighing.

She cheers on the inside, does a little dance in her seat because she’s won this round. “We can play the ‘who’s sleeping with whose wife’ game too, if that makes the deal sweeter for you,” she says around a grin.

“The Vertigo is the only thing you’re going to help the Hood with,” Oliver states with an air of finality, which she thinks is strange because doesn’t the Hood get a say in any of this? Oliver seems to be making decisions unilaterally for him, and what is he, like the vigilante’s social media manager or something?

Now _that’s_ something she never thought would ever cross her mind. Ever.  

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.” She’ll take what she can get, quitting while she’s ahead. Besides, she’s sure she can find other ways to get him to change his mind. Just not today.

“Well, it was nice doing business with you.” She remarks playfully. Grinning ear to ear, she eases out of the chair and stretches out her arm for a handshake.

Oliver stares at her hand for a second before he sighs and shakes his head with a smile. He takes her hand in his. It’s big and warm against hers, skin a little rough - she’s guessing from the years of battling it out with nature on the island. She catches herself wondering absentmindedly if it’ll feel nice on other parts of her body, and then she’s blushing hard, all the way up to her cheeks and she has to take a step back, away from him.

“I’m gonna go back to my office then,” she says, as she smiles at him. He nods and gives her a small wave, his attention already back on his monitor as she walks towards his door.

“Hey, what colour’s your dress?”

She turns around, bottom lip between her teeth, surprised that he’s asking, but appreciating the effort nonetheless.

“Red. It’s red.”

* * *

He’s already waiting for her at the entrance to Queen Consolidated’s foyer, playing around with something on his phone when she arrives. It doesn't seem like he’s noticed her so she takes the opportunity to take him in.

When they were in college, girls would refer to him as sex on a stick and back then, because she’d been so hell bent on denying what she felt for him, she’d just scoff and roll her eyes at their obvious desperation. Now though?

Yeah. She _gets it._

He’s handsome, in a rogue-ish, bad boy kind of way, with the dusting of stubble along his jaw. He’s grown out his hair just long enough to run one’s fingers through if the need ever arises, her brain supplies helpfully. His arms fill out the sleeves of his suit very nicely and the fact that she knows (thank you, impromptu shower at her place!) what’s under all of that clothing just... makes it so much _hotter._

“Hey, you’re here,” he says softly when he finally notices her, pocketing his phone and walking to her. She watches as his eyes wander down, then back up her body. “You... wow. You look beautiful.”  

The dress she’s wearing is long, the hem just about brushing the floor even in the heels she’s wearing. It has a plunging neckline that required a fair amount of tape to stay up, but otherwise, the dress accentuates her figure beautifully; tight in the right places, the material falling softly and curling around the rest of her body like it had been made specifically for her.

She hasn’t done much to her hair, letting her natural waves curl around her shoulder, but Oliver seems captivated by it and it sends a thrill of delight through her.

“Thank you. You look really good too. As usual.” She taps a finger against his bow tie which is bright red and sitting perfectly on his collar. “I like this.”

He grins, chest puffing out proudly, still staring unabashedly at her. “Well, you said you’d be in red.”

“I did.” She doesn’t break eye contact with him even as her fingers curl around his wrist. She’s going to have to get a hold of herself if she wants to make it through the night without spontaneously combusting from the simmering pull of desire swirling in her stomach.

She clears her throat, composes herself and loops her hand through his elbow. “Shall we go face the wolves then?”   

He nods in agreement and turns them around, guiding them through the front door. When they go in, it’s clear the event is already well and truly underway. What Moira had marketed as a ‘simple cocktail event’ turns out to be more of a lavish party, with the Q.C. foyer completely transformed into a fancy catered, full blown, standing room only, _party_.

“Um, isn’t this supposed to be a business networking thing?” Felicity asks, fingers tightening around his arm. When she spots the giant bird in the middle of the room, hisses, “Most networking events don’t have ice sculptures in the centre of the room, Oliver!”

“That’s Moira Queen for you,” Oliver mutters under his breath, taking in the lavish decor himself. “I don’t even know half these people. Why am I here?”

“To _network_ ,” she answers smartly. “Which, by the way, will help you get to know them.”

“I don’t _want_ to know these people,” Oliver grumbles like a petulant child. A flash of recognition flits over his face as he points to someone across the room. “Oh, I know him!”

Following his line of sight, Felicity groans when she sees who he’s referring to. “Ray. Great. Of course he’s here,” she mumbles, making Oliver turn to look at her curiously.

As if their attention had magically summoned him, Ray spots them, waves, and starts making his way towards them. Felicity gulps, squeezes Oliver’s arm and tries to force him to move.  

“Oh no, oh no, let’s go. Please,” she begs, pushing against his chest, but to no avail because Oliver’s so stupidly solid and strong and hard and -

“What... why do we need to go? We just got here. I know Ray’s a little full on, but he’s not that bad,” Oliver laughs, clearly amused by her antics.

She takes his hand, tugging desperately. “I’ll watch all of your dumb Die Hard movies if we can just - Hi Ray, hi!”

The man in question walks a lot faster than she anticipated and he’s suddenly in front of them grinning, all teeth and lips. Without warning, he pulls her into a tight hug, wrenching Felicity’s hand out of Oliver’s.

“Oh, it’s so nice to see you too, Felicity,” Ray says as he pulls away. “It’s been a while.”

Yeah. A while. The last time she saw Ray had been almost a year ago, stalking angrily out of his house after he broke up with her. Not that she blames him for ending things between them; she would have broken up with her too, but it’s the circumstances around the breakup itself that had been particularly mortifying and she really, really, _really d_ oesn’t want to rehash that all over again, especially with Oliver standing right there.

“Mmhmm, it sure has,” she manages to say through a very fake smile, taking a very big step away from him.

Oliver shifts very subtly to stand behind her, having picked up on her discomfort. She glances up at him and the spark of amusement from before is gone. He’s studying the other man like he’s deciding if he should punch him or not.

His hand comes to rest against her lower back, and it feels suspiciously like he’s marking his territory. Something which in any other circumstances would annoy her - strong, independent woman that she is - but she’ll give it a pass this time. Mainly because it seems like he’s jealous, and if he’s jealous then... that is very _interesting._

And also, kinda hot.    

“Oliver Queen, glad you’re alive,” Ray chuckles, holding his hand out to Oliver. “Nice party.”

“All my mother’s doing,” Oliver responds, awkwardly stretching out to shake Ray’s hand since he’s still hovering behind her. “Didn’t think this was your crowd, Palmer.”

“It’s not, but I was in town and thought I’d drop by. Heard about your project with Felicity and got curious, you know? I actually proposed something similar years ago but ah - well. Things didn’t turn out so well,” Ray tells them, and has the audacity to wink at her.

He _winked_ at her. Before she can determine what that actually meant, in a pointed, almost purposeful move, he lowers his head, effectively shutting Oliver out.

“How do you feel about catching me up with everything you’ve been up to over dinner?”

 _Oh dear God_.

Ray has guts, she’ll give him that. He may have directed the question at her, but Oliver still can hear him, clear as day.

Oliver bristles behind her, and his hand definitely presses harder against her back, fingers digging into her waist. She can feel the warmth radiating from his broad chest, and she leans into him so the back of her right shoulder rests against him, trying to tell him that it’s okay. That she can handle this on her own.

“Ray, I don’t -”

“Coffee then?” Ray chirps happily, clapping his hands together. “We’ll go to Jitters - still your favourite right?”

She opens her mouth decline, but Oliver moves quicker than she does. He steps out from behind her, his hand burning a trail across her waist and muscles his way into the space between Ray and her. He squares his shoulders and Felicity has to take a step back to avoid bumping her nose into his back.

“She has a _boyfriend_.” Oliver’s voice takes on a very menacing tone, gruff and dangerous. “So asking her out probably isn't a good idea.”

Wait, _what?_

She blinks dumbly at Oliver’s back, and for the first time in a while, she’s unable to find any words that can accurately convey her confusion. The conversation between the two men fades away into the distance - they’re not throwing punches at each other, so it’s probably okay for her to tune them out for a while.

Does Oliver seriously think she has a boyfriend? Is that why he’s been so weird with her lately?

Or is he pretending to _be_ her boyfriend to get Ray off her back?

She scowls at the thought. Because if so, wow, presumptuous much? As if she needs him to make up some stupid lie to defend her. She was doing fine fending off Ray’s -

“Good riddance to him.”

Oliver’s voice in her ear shakes her out of her reverie, and she glances up to see that Ray’s disappeared from sight. Oliver looks pleased with himself, which only serves to irritate her even more.

“What was that?” she hisses at him, shoving at him with both her hands. “A _boyfriend?_ ”

“Huh? I was just - it looked like he wasn’t going to take no as an answer... I was helping you!” Oliver sputters, catching her wrists so she stops hitting him.

“You didn’t have to lie to him! I was doing fine on my own!”

“What lie?”

If she wasn’t annoyed with him right now, the look of utter cluelessness on his face would totally be adorable. His brow is furrowed, lips pressed together in a slight frown. Cute. _Annoying,_ but cute.

“Hello? The _boyfriend_ ?” She reminds him, her voice rising. “That I _don’t_ have? Unless you were implying that _you’re_ my boyf-”

“You don’t have a boyfriend?” Oliver asks dumbly. Then his eyes go wide, and his mouth drops open comically. “But... _Curtis?_ ”

“Oh my God! Curtis is my partner, as in _business_ , not _life_ _!_ ” Felicity groans, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead.

She looks around furtively, and when she’s satisfied no one’s paying attention to their squabble, pulls him away from the main floor, marching them to the quiet corner in the room.

“Have you... All this time, you thought that I had a boyfriend?” She asks once they’re alone and hidden behind a giant, elaborate statue of some Queen family ancestor.

Because that would explain _so_ much. She replays every interaction they’ve had with each other over in her head, and it all just... slides into place. His weirdness, the way he’d come on so strong only to back right off like she’s burnt him.

“You really thought Curtis was my boyfriend?” The very idea is so preposterous, she has to stifle a laugh, her entire body shaking with the effort. “He’s gay, Oliver! And has a husband!”

Oliver at least, has the decency to look sheepish. A tinge of pink colours his cheeks as he loosens his bow tie just a little.

“Uh... yeah. I.. yeah.” He scratches his head, embarrassed, and then lets out a huff. “I didn’t think he was a _good_ one. He never visits, doesn’t call unless it’s work related... ah, actually... now that I’m saying all this out loud...”

He lets out a small laugh, like he’s so extremely relieved by what slowly dawning upon him. He rubs a hand down his face, and when he finally looks at her, his eyes are clear and sparkling and it looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“I’m an idiot. _Wow,_ ” he says breathlessly, and the grin he bestows upon her after that is the biggest she’s received from him in the entire time she’s been in Starling.

It makes her feel lighter, no longer confused. Buoyed by her new found understanding, she inches closer to him, then slides a hand up his chest, fingers splayed wide over his crisp suit. The steady thrumm of his of his heartbeat reverberates under her palm, and with every inch upwards, she swears she feels it speed up just a bit.

“You _are_ an idiot, Oliver Queen,” Felicity murmurs with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Her fingers continue their journey upwards, sliding under his collar, then over, her thumb sneaking past the material of his shirt to brush along the skin of his neck. She pauses for a second, wondering if they’re on the same page, studying his face to see if he’s opposed to this much touching, _intimate_ touching, but all she sees reflected in his eyes is heat.

Sizzling, barely restrained heat. And something that looks like _desperate need_.  

Right then. Same page. Onwards. Her other hand glides up his arm, resting on his shoulder.

He shivers imperceptibly under her touch and his own hands come up to curve around both sides of her waist, like he’s depending on her to anchor him down. It makes her feel powerful and it fuels her bravery. It also silences the conflicting thoughts in her head about how this is totally inappropriate because she still has unresolved issues and he’s still strangely mysterious but damn if it isn’t completely _electrifying_.

He tilts his head down as he pushes up on the toes of her heels, until there’s barely an inch between their lips. There’s a loud rushing noise in her ears, fire burning where he’s holding her. He smells good; familiar and intoxicating and delicious and her eyes slide shut as she inhales deeply.  

“Just to be perfectly clear,” she whispers into the space between them, angling her head so her lips glances over his cheek as she speaks. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Oliver.”

“Good,” Oliver rasps, voice low, caught in his throat. His fingers squeeze her waist, then tugs, pulls her in so their hips are flush with each other and they both groan simultaneously at the contact. “That’s... _good_.”  

“Yeah,” Felicity agrees - whether it’s to the fact that it’s good she doesn’t have a boyfriend, or whether it’s good that they’re pressed up against each other so wantonly, she doesn't know, but she’s going to agree to anything he says at this point so she just sinks into him, desperate to close the gap between them because thinking about kissing him has her turned inside out and then -

“ _Get down!_ ”

Felicity lets out a shriek as chaos erupts behind them, screams of fear interspersed with the sound of flying bullets, shattering glass and crashing furniture echo around the room. And then she’s falling scarily backwards as Oliver looms over her, body curving over hers protectively.  

He breaks her fall with his arms, holding her up just before her back hits the floor, and she gasps, choking, heart flying to her throat, terror coursing through her veins.

“Oliver, what the _fuck?!_ ”

“You okay?”

They speak together, and Felicity nods quickly, reassuring him. He sits up, dragging her  along with him further into the corner of their hiding spot. The statue shields them from most of the carnage, but the bullets are still flying and people are still screaming and oh God, she’s going to have a nervous breakdown because this is _terrifying_ and she’s probably going to _die tonight_.

Oliver crouches down in front of her, peeking out from behind the statue to assess the situation and then turns back around to face her.

“I need you to call Diggle,” Oliver whispers frantically, unaware of the racing thoughts in her head. He hands her his phone, eyes darting past her and back onto the main floor. “Call Diggle, he’s probably already in here somewhere. Tell him where you are and to get you out of here.”

“Oliver, are you _kidding?_ You’re _leaving_ me? Right now? You realise there are guns out there, and people _shooting_ people with those guns? We’re good here, behind this big, ugly ass statue, let’s just stay here!” She curls her fingers into his jacket, babbling a little hysterically, but honestly she doesn't care what she sounds like right now.

She reaches out to cup his cheek with her hand, urging him to turn away from the room and face her instead. And almost instantly she’s taken aback by the steely edge in his eyes and the hard set of his mouth. He’s looks like a completely different person and it makes her shrink back against the wall, fingers tightening around his phone.

“Felicity, I need you to listen to me. I have to be somewhere and you need to get Diggle. Do you understand?”

“Are you...” A light bulb goes off in her head and she swallows the lump in her throat. “Are you gonna get the Hood? To help?”

Oliver squeezes his eyes shut, then as if she’s prying some hard truth out of him, nods once. “Yes. That’s what I’m doing. So I need you to get Diggle, and let him take you somewhere safe. _Please,_ Felicity.”

He looks so torn, face twisted with conflicting emotions, gutted, because he’s desperate to go running right into the thick of the danger, but is forcing himself stay with her to make sure she’s safe. It almost looks like he’s in physical pain being faced with the choice in front of him.

Felicity blinks at him and tries to calm herself down, thinking that maybe if she gets a hold of herself, he’ll calm down too. Maybe if she tries reasoning with him...

“Why do you need to go get the Hood? He should already know. He’s... he should already be here, Oliver. Out there fighting them. He doesn’t need you for this. We can wait for Diggle together, or until S.C.P.D gets here.”

“Felicity, _I can’t_ ,” he growls, balling his hands into fists, feet ready to run but he’s still there. With her, waiting for her to say she’ll do what he’s asked her to do.

He’s breathing heavily, eyes flashing with wild energy and if she didn’t know any better, it sure looks like _wants_ to be out there. Fighting. Taking down whoever’s out there. Not just... calling the Hood for help.

And then it hits her.

Like a freight train slamming into her chest, knocking the air out of her.

No. _No._

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the shock, or the terror, but her brain starts working at breakneck speed, untangling every confusing, ridiculous thought that’s ever crossed her mind since she landed in Starling.

The blood drains from her face and she presses harder into the wall against her back, needing to put some space between them. Trembling fingers let go of his phone, hearing it clatter to the ground, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest, twisting the material of her dress desperately in her fingers.

His name falls from her lips at the revelation, but it comes out as a frightened whisper and when Oliver slams his eyes shut, face crumpling into an expression of regret and sorrow, it’s all but a confirmation of her suspicions and it’s clear that he realises that the jig is up.

"Felicity, I need to be out there,” Oliver grits out as yet another spray of bullets fly about them, sending a flurry of plaster and debris raining down on them. He whips his suit jacket off and drapes it over her.

“Please, Felicity, please call Diggle,” he pleads, picking up the fallen phone and handing it back to her.

He’s so stubborn. So fucking stubborn. Noble, and an idiot, and a godawful _liar_ , but she can’t help the surge of gratitude that swells within her at the fact he’s actually tearing himself in two, wanting to go do his whole save the city thing but not willing to leave her until he’s sure she’ll be okay.

“Go, Oliver, _go_ ,” she finally manages to say in a voice steadier than she thought she was capable of. “I’ll call him. I promise. Just go.”

* * *

 

_‘The S.C.P.D. is reporting that the attack on Queen Consolidated tonight is the result of a group of terrorists intending to take several prominent Starling City citizens hostage for ransom. Their efforts were thwarted, thankfully, by the S.C.P.D’s quick response once the alarm was raised and no one has been seriously injured. This is an ongoing investigation, more to come. Stay tuned for live updates.’_

Felicity swallows the urge to throw up, hugging herself as she mutes the television and throws her remote onto her couch. The screen replays the same thing over and over again, footage of the police storming into the now completely destroyed foyer, guns blazing, hunting down the men who had opened fire on the party.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Diggle tells her softly, answering the question she doesn’t ask.

She’d called Diggle just as Oliver told her to, and he’d come for her within minutes. He didn't ask any questions when he found her, quickly ushering her through a series of back doors out of the building and wordlessly bundled her into Oliver’s town car.

The S.C.P.D arrived not long after, so she doesn’t feel too guilty about making it out before everyone else. She gave Diggle her address and he’d driven her without a single complaint, and now they’re here, standing in front of her muted television, both lost in their own thoughts.

“You knew, all this time?” Felicity asks quietly. “About... Oliver?”

Diggle turns to her, sighs, then nods. “This is something you should talk to him about, but yes. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

“Probably wouldn’t have found out at all, if it were up to him,” she mutters bitterly. Then she shakes her head, and gives him a watery smile. “Thanks for bringing me home, John. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, Felicity. Anytime. And if you need me to stay tonight, I will.”

She’s still shaken, terrified by everything that’s unfolded tonight and she needs something to ground her, human contact, _comfort_ so she closes the distance between them and pulls him into a hug, her arms barely able to wrap around his large frame.  

“You’re a good man, John Diggle,” she sniffles into his shirt. “But I’m okay. You don’t have to stay, I’m just gonna go to sleep for like a hundred hours an do nothing interesting.”

Diggle chuckles as he pulls away, only to jerk backwards when a loud resounding knock startles the two of them.

“Stay here,” Diggle instructs before darting to her front door and peering out the peephole. She watches as he lets out a huff, of annoyance, maybe? She’s not sure, but his shoulders slump forward and he pulls the door open, so it can’t be someone dangerous.

Diggle steps aside with a sigh, only to reveal Oliver limping in, his pristine white shirt torn in places, bloodstained and dirty like he’d been through more than a few rounds with the terrorists the news report mentioned.  

And Diggle, with a grim, but knowing smile merely nods and waves goodbye to her from the door. Then smacks Oliver upside the head, glaring at him before stepping outside, presumably to go home.

Leaving her alone with Oliver.  

His Adam’s Apple bobs as he stares at her, then he shoves his hands into the pockets of his very ruined slacks. “Hi.”

She narrows her eyes, glares at him in silence for a long, _long_ moment until Oliver shuffles uncomfortably on his feet.

“I... I can go, if you want,” he mumbles eventually, even though his entire body language is screaming just the opposite.

He seems to want to stay, eyeing her couch as if he’d very much like to sink into it, but he stands his ground, waiting for her. He looks like he’s really sorry, tired lines etched into his usually perfect face. He doesn't budge from her front door, drained, not a single trace of the manic energy from before in sight. The ball’s in her court, and she knows he’s serious - if she tells him to go, he will.

But.

She wants answers.

If she’s learned anything tonight, it’s that she never wants to be blindsided again. _Ever._ Oliver used to be the one person she could trust to never lie to her, never hurt her, and tonight’s revelations only serves to prove that that’s no longer the case.

He’s reopened old wounds tonight, despite all her compartmentalising, and she’s finding that maybe it’s time to finally confront them. Lay them all out in the open and deal with them headfirst before she gives him more opportunities to inflict more pain on her already bruised soul .

“Tell me,” she says eventually, and Oliver breathes a sigh of relief when he realises she doesn’t want him to leave.

“Tell me everything,” she reiterates.

Oliver nods once. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He raises a hand to his face, scratches the stubble along his jaw and nods again. Sucks in a deep breath. “I’m... I’m the Hood.”

Felicity shakes her head. “I know _that,_ Oliver.”

A crease of confusion appears between his eyes. “What-”

“I meant,” Felicity swallows, licks her lips and blows out a long breath of air. The way Oliver straightens up and unearths his hands from his pockets tells her he already knows what she’s going to ask him.

“I meant tell me why you left me.”

* * *

  **2007**

He practically floats all the way back to his apartment. The weather’s beautiful, a gentle breeze making the summer heat so much more bearable but even if the weather hadn’t been beautiful, he’d still be floating.

Because he’s just spent a good fifteen minutes making out with Felicity against her front door, no longer having to bury his feelings for her under the pretence of being her friend. So what if the night hadn’t started off well for him, it sure as hell has ended perfectly.

She _loves_ him.

Her unintentional declaration still echoes in his head, and he suspects he’s going to replay her angry confession of love over and over in his head for a long time to come.

And they’re going to go to Bali, going to soak in the sun and spend entire days by the beach, just the two of them, learning to love each other, and maybe she’ll let him feel her up a little - but he’ll take it as slow as she wants to. She deserves to be respected. He won’t treat her like the other girls, she’s _not_ like the other girls.

He digs his phone out of his pocket and calls his father, eager to make sure that the jet’s available to take them to Bali tomorrow.

“Hey, Dad!” He greets when his dad picks up on the first ring. “Have a favour to ask you, if that’s okay?”

_“You have quite the nerve, Oliver, calling to ask for a favour? After all this?”_

He pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it. What is his dad going on about? He puts it back against his ear. “Don’t know what you mean, but can I use the jet -”

_“Can you use the jet? Oliver Jonas Queen, the only thing you’re doing with the jet is taking it back to Starling the first thing in the morning.”_

“Excuse me, Dad? I’m _not_ flying back to Starling,” he exclaims, annoyed. Trust his father to be the one to burst his bubble of happiness. God, maybe he’ll just book a commercial flight for the both of them and he doesn't have to -

_“If you’re not back here by tomorrow, Oliver, I’m cutting you off. This is the absolute last straw, and I will not stand for anymore of your nonsense.”_

What the actual fuck? Cut him off? Oliver stops in his tracks, ten minutes from the house he shares with Tommy, actual fear flooding through his bloodstream. His dad is _cutting him off?_

“Dad, what are you talking about? I don’t -”

_"You don’t know? You’re telling me you don’t know that you’ve been kicked out of yet another college? That’s the fourth one in two years, Oliver, and this is completely unacceptable!”_

Oh, fuck.

The college already notified his parents then. _Fuck._

It’s why he missed the party earlier in the night, why he’d been in the worst mood when he met up with Felicity. The college had revoked his enrollment because he’s flunking out and no amount of pleading had been able to convince them to give him another chance. He just thought he’d be able to avoid the fallout until after he returned from Bali.

Guess not.

“Dad, it’s... college just isn’t something I-”

_"I don’t want to hear any excuses, you come back right now and we’re dealing with this as a family, Oliver. I swear if you’re not home by tomorrow -”_

“Fine!” He shouts. He really doesn't need to be yelled at over the phone by his dad like he’s a child.  “Fine! I’m coming home tonight. See you later.”

He hangs up and fumes angrily by the sidewalk. If he takes the last flight out of Boston - he pulls up a list of outbound flights - he’ll make it to Starling in a few hours and once he sorts all this stupid shit out, he’ll fly back just in time to take Felicity to Bali.

It could work. It _has_ to work.

He’s not letting her down, not after the way she practically lit up at the idea, humming with delight at the prospect of a holiday out of the country.

He _will not_ be another person who disappoints her.

He buys a return ticket that will get him back to Boston at seven in the morning, and doesn't even bother heading home before calling himself a cab to take him to the airport.

* * *

 

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have had so many drinks on the flight over. Probably should have stopped after the fourth vodka tonic. But he didn’t think he could make it through another _‘talk’_ with his parents without the alcohol and once he got started, the drinks just... kept on coming.  

“So what if I dropped out of college, Dad,” Oliver drawls, kicking at the legs of his father’s desk. He almost loses his footing and the world before him spins just a little.

“Bill Gates dropped out of college too, Felicity told me.”

“You’re a disgrace to the Queen name, you know that, son?” Robert shakes his head in disgust. “You show up here, drunk off your face, and expect us to have a civil conversation about this?”  

“I didn’t expect a civil conversation, not at all,” Oliver lets out a bark of laughter, swaying unsteadily on his feet. “As if we could ever have a civil conser-conver-conversation.”

His father rises out of his seat, and he’s sure if he were sober, it would be pretty intimidating, but now, his father’s face just swims in front of him, distorted and slanted and it looks funny - so funny, he can’t help the giggles that escape his lips.

His father’s voice takes on a cold, unfeeling tone. “You’re not going back to Boston.”

Huh, what?

Oliver blinks. Surely he’s misheard him. “Of course I’m going back to Boston. I gotta take Fels to Bali,” he announces proudly. “She loves me. We’re going on a holiday.”

“The hell you are!”

Oliver winces, shuddering at the volume of his father’s voice. God, yeah, definitely too many drinks. “You can’t make me stay here, Dad. I love her. I’m taking her no matter what you say.”

“Oh, please, Oliver. Felicity Smoak is one of the brightest girls I know, how long do you think anything between the two of you will last?”

It’s his mother who speaks this time, piping up for the first time since he stepped foot in his father’s office. Moira Queen hardly ever intervenes in their arguments, usually happy to stand back and let the men duke it out, but this time however, she gets out of her chair, stands at full height and stares at her son.

“She’s on a full ride at one of the best engineering schools in the country, and you’re a serial college dropout. Barely even scraping through the courses you _do_ finish,” she says, cold and unfeeling, sending a chill down Oliver’s spine.

“Mom...”

“Her future is so bright. She works hard, and will probably end up doing great things in her life once she graduates, and what will _you_ be doing with yourself?”

Every word out of his mother’s mouth slices through him, cutting deep, and wow, that _hurts_. That his mother - his own mother - would say these things to him without a second of hesitation, it’s gut-wrenching.

“It... I won’t be holding her back if that’s what you’re implying,” he forces out. Then adds, “She accepts me as who I am. She - she’s good, she’s a good person she won’t -” His tongue feels so thick in his mouth, and god, he’s so drunk he can’t think straight.

He reaches out to one of the bookshelves to steady himself. “She loves me.”  

“For now,” Moira responds coolly. “You’re wasting your life away, Oliver, and if you really care about that girl, you’ll want to think about what you’re doing with her.”

What his mother’s doing is so _cruel_ ; knowing exactly what to say to dig up all the deep seated fears he’s harboured for so long. The same fears that prevented him from revealing his feelings for Felicity in the first place. What was it Laurel had said all that time ago?

_He’ll ruin her._

He shakes his head, ridding himself of the memory. Felicity already ensured him that it’ll never happen. But - but that had been before he dropped out of four colleges, he thinks sardonically.

“Mom, I - can be better for her, you know that, I’m better _with_ her,” he argues helplessly. He’s finding it hard to use his words; the only thing he can think of is Felicity and how much he loves her and how he has to get back to her like, yesterday. Back to her pretty smile and her cute glasses and her amazing, _amazing_ kisses.

“I... I’d do anything for her, I _love_ her.”

And as if she’s been waiting for exactly this moment, a smile stretches over her face. “Of course you can be better for her. You can be the best for her, if only you tried harder.”

“I can be the best,’ he agrees dumbly. “Only the best for her.”

“Your father’s going on a trip to China to oversee the new branch opening. You’ll go as well, to shadow him. It’s time you started learning about the family business. Make something of yourself. For Felicity.”

“ _No, mom!_ ” he groans. His alcohol addled brain is working too slowly, he has to think so hard just to form sentences in his head and he’s so tired. Every bone in his body feels so heavy.

He just needs to stay up long enough to make it onto the flight back to Felicity. That’s all he needs to do. His hand slips off the shelf he’s holding on to and he stumbles forward, but his father catches him before he falls over.

“It’s just a short trip to China, son. You’ll spend a few days there, learn the ropes, meet some people and we’ll come back. Don’t you think it’ll be better for you, and Felicity, if you did this? If you start getting some experience in the real world?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows they’re tag-teaming him. Good cop versus bad cop, trying to make him stay. But he won’t fall for it.

“I hate the family business,” he seethes, breathing hard, almost wheezing. Fuck, _fuck_ the alcohol. “I just want to go back to Boston. I’ll go back to school if that’s what you want.”

“What we want is for you to grow the hell up!” Robert snaps angrily. “You’re coming to China, and that’s final!”

Oliver squeezes his eyes shut, feeling sick. He can’t feel his face - and it’s possible there are spots blooming under his eyelids and his feet don’t feel like his feet and -

“Dad, I don’t feel so good,” he mutters, hands reaching out to hold on to something, anything before he keels over. “Dad, please, just wanna go back to Boston.”

And then he blacks out.

* * *

 Why is his bed moving?

Why... Oh, god he feels terrible, his mouth’s dry and his head is pounding and the sun’s too fucking bright and -

The sun.

The _sun_.

Panic races through him and he forces his eyes open, scrambling to his feet, ignoring the bile rising up his throat. Shit - why are his feet so fucking unsteady, where the _fuck is_  he?

He gives his jeans a pat down but his phone isn’t in his pocket, and the panic in his gut intensifies, dread collecting in his stomach. He whirls around, takes in the stark white interior of the room he’s in, briefly wondering why he’s in here - but then he spots his phone and lunges for it.

The screen lights up and it’s...

It’s ten.

Ten in the morning.

His breath comes out in shallow, nervous puffs, his blood turning to ice, heart sinking as he pulls up his messaging app. 

His hand comes up to close over his mouth, tears pooling in his eyes as he scans the barrage of messages from Felicity this morning. His heart breaks, splintering apart with each message he reads because he knows - he _knows_ exactly what he’s done to her. Knows that this is the worst, most cruel thing he could have done and he’s...

Wait.

There are two text messages that he sent right at the bottom, the final two messages in the thread, with no other replies from Felicity. Only... he hadn’t.. He didn’t send them. It wasn’t him. It was... his Dad? Maybe? Whoever put him here.

_But he didn’t send them._

He screams, tears streaming down his face because how the fuck is any of this fair? For him, for _her?_ He throws his phone right across the stupid small room and it smashes into pieces against the wall.

And then the entire room lurches and he stumbles over his feet. Seething with frustration, he stalks across the room and finally peers out the window.

_"Fuck!”_

He’s on a goddamn boat. To China.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of the flashbacks in this fic :)
> 
> Comments and kudos always, always appreciated! 
> 
> Twitter: @estheryam


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change for this chapter.
> 
> Felicity deals with the aftermath of the truth bombs that were dropped on her in the last chapter.

“Please, say something. Talk to me, Felicity.”

Yeah, that would be easy to do if she knew what to say.

She has her back turned to him, leaning against her kitchen counter because she hasn’t been able to look him in the eyes since he finished telling his side of the story. Her nails are digging into the flesh of her palms so hard she suspects she might be drawing blood.

“Usually people ask me to _stop_ talking,” she jokes, a bitter tinge in her voice. Joking is easy. Dealing with what he’s just revealed to her? Not so much.

Her stomach hurts. Her heart hurts. _Everything_ hurts.

“But you... you believe me, don’t you?”

Does she?

If she takes his word for it, if everything he’s just told her is true, then what does that mean for all the anger that she’s held on to for so long? Has she just wasted all this time letting the resentment fester in the back of her mind, all dark and twisted, condemning the his not so dead ghost to eternal hell when all this time, she could have...

What?

What would she have done?

Dropped everything and move to Starling City when he returned from the dead? She’s never been someone who lived their life on someone else’s terms and six, seven months ago was when her company really started taking off. So even if she knew for sure that he hadn’t left her intentionally, it’s not like she would have put her career on hold to come back.

Right?

“I didn’t mean to make you question your decisions.”

She whips her head around to face him as she grimaces. “I was thinking out loud again, wasn’t I?”

“Um... yeah.”

Oliver’s sitting on the armrest of her couch, looking down at his feet. There are bits of debris in his hair, a bruise forming under his eye on the side of his face not hidden from her, and cuts along his exposed forearms where the sleeves of his shirt have been ripped off. He’s slumped forward, hands splayed over his knees like he needs the extra support to stay upright.

A far cry from the man who, a mere few hours ago, had practically been vibrating with the need to charge right into battle.  

And _that’s_ the other thing. The other insane, unbelievable, truth she’s having a little bit of trouble wrapping her head around.  

 _Oliver Queen_ is the Hood. Starling City’s resident vigilante, responsible for taking down white collar criminals, recently having expanded his reach to include drug lords and lowlife dealers.

The S.C.P.D calls him a _murderer_.

She studies his profile, all quiet and subdued, the soft light from her television set casting shadows over his face.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” she asks. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it succeeds in making him finally turn to her.

Uncertainty laces his words when he clarifies, “About the... text messages?”

“The messages. The Hood. All of it. You told me you were only helping the Hood and I believed you. How long were you going to keep lying to me, Oliver?”

She sucks in a breath as images start flashing in her mind’s eye. Things that she’s long buried and sworn never to relive again swim up from the depths of her memory bank and she lets them spill from her lips - for the first time in a very long time.

“What would have happened if they caught you, or if you turned up dead, and they ask me things like, ' _The Hood is Oliver Queen, Miss Smoak, did you know about this, your childhood best friend being the vigilante?’_ and I can’t answer them because you lied to me and I can’t get mad at you because you’re _dead,_ which by the way is exactly what happened five years ago, if you must know and -”

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Oliver cuts her off her near hysterical tirade, stands up and walks over to her, cautious as he approaches, stopping arm’s width away. She’s not sure if she actually wants him near right now and she’s grateful for his consideration.

“I can’t slow down. Brain can’t slow down,” she mutters, brushing a lock of hair behind her ears. A million things are running through her head, from the disbelief that _he’s the Hood,_ to how _dare_ his parents manipulate him the way they did. If they hadn’t, maybe he wouldn’t have lost five years of his life, wouldn’t have been shipwrecked or marooned or whatever.

They wouldn’t have lost all this time. _So much time_.

“Felicity?”

“Hm?” She snaps out of it and looks up, the back of her neck cracking, relieving some of the tension that’s been building up all night.

“I would have told you. Eventually.” He stays right where he is, even though for a split second he leans forward like he’s about to reach out to touch her. He clasps his hands together, squeezes them tightly once then lets them fall to his sides again.

“I’ve wanted to tell you about the messages since... since the beginning, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. You were so... settled in your life. You moved on and it felt like I was still living in the past, hung up on “could haves” and missed opportunities and some idealised notion of lo - _friendship_...”

Her eyes shoot up at the near slip and she rocks back on her heels.

 _Love?_ Did he almost say love? What does that mean? Does he still feel the same way he did that night - as crazy and absurd as it sounds?  

Sure, they’d had that one heated moment this evening, all intimate, super-charged and lust-filled (okay, maybe lust-filled on _her_ part, at least) before all hell broke loose. But it’s been five years. Five, almost six, long, pretty _terrible_  years, for him. Is it possible that nothing’s changed for him?

 _Love?_ Does he still _love_ her?

Does _she_ still-

God, it’s too much. Too many things to deal with at the moment without the addition of some hormone fueled, possibly half-baked confession from five years ago.

She steers the conversation away from the touchy topic. “Would you have told me about your vigilantism? If I hadn’t figured it out on my own?”

“Felicity, I...” He falters and looks away. Her heart sinks at the implication .

“So you were never going to tell me?” Disappointment seeps into her words. “You’d let me believe a bold faced lie for however long, that you were just _helping_ , when you’re the one actually out there every night arrowing people for their crimes?”

“Are you judging me for that? You said that me helping him was _cool_ and that it was something you were okay with. His eyes narrow as he throws her words back at her in an accusatory tone. “That the Hood was... good.”

“I know what I said, Oliver!” she snaps, and notices with grim satisfaction that he winces at her voice.

She exhales and counts down from three, then levels him with a steady glare. “I’m not upset that you’re the Hood,” she says slowly as she pushes her hair out of her face in frustration. “I’m upset that you _lied_ to me about it.”

Oliver lets out a strangled choke of laughter. “I lied to protect you! Because I didn’t want you more involved in this,” he argues. “It was for your own good. I thought if I said I was just helping, one day I’d tell you I _wasn’t_ helping anymore, and you’d let it go.”

“So you were going to tell me _another_  lie. For my own good.”

“I...” he swallows. The grim set of his jaw and the stubborn glint in his eye indicates just how serious he is about his decision to hide the truth from her. “Yes.”  

“You’re unbelievable,” she scoffs. “I’m already involved. I’ve _been_ involved the second you fed me that bullshit story about the scavenger hunt. There is literally no difference between thinking I’m helping you help the Hood, and me actually helping the Hood. Don’t you see that? You didn’t have to lie to me about anything! I’d have helped you either way!”

“My point is that I _don’t_ want you to help with anything else!” he barks, exasperated. “The thumb drive was a momentary lapse in judgement that should have never happened. And I should have never agreed to you investigating the Vertigo either!”

He spins away from her, hanging his head and bending over to rest his hands on the back of her couch before continuing.

“This life - me being the Hood? It puts everyone around me, everyone in my orbit, in danger and I don’t want to add your name to that list. If that meant lying to you to try and keep you away from it then so be it. You’re too important to me.”

“Just not important enough to warrant your honesty,” she mutters bitterly. Out of spite more than anything else and because she knows this will cut him the deepest, she adds, “You know, a long time ago you were the only person I trusted not to let me down. Guess you’re no different from everyone else, huh?”

Oliver jerks and turns back around to face her, eyes wide like he’s been slapped, hand on his heart, but otherwise he does nothing else. Says nothing else. It almost makes her feel bad for lashing out but she pushes the thought aside - let him stew in _that_ for a while.

He’d looked truly remorseful before when he referred to the text messages he _didn’t_ send five years ago, allowing her a glimpse of the boy she’d fallen in love with, barely surviving under the familial pressure unfairly imposed upon him.

But discussing the Hood on the other hand, has brought a colder, more hard-nosed Oliver to light. The Oliver that spends his nights evading the S.C.P.D as he hunts down criminals and instils the fear of God in them before... potentially killing them.

Which is something she should be more disturbed by, but she finds that it’s rather low on her list of things she’s upset with him about and really, doesn’t that say something about her own warped sense of right and wrong?

The silence drags on and she’s starting to forget if she’s mad at him for lying, or mad at him for not wanting her to help. He’s too riled up and she’s too emotionally spent and they’re both stubborn as mules so the probability of either one of them compromising is... really low and their argument will probably start going around in circles. Everything between them is so fragile and tenuous that she just wants this night to be over right now. 

As if he can read her mind (she used to think that he could, back when she was just a starry-eyed kid who had a super cool best friend who just _got_ her), Oliver sighs and clears his throat.

“So, what now? Are we... are we okay?”

She blinks once, twice, then shrugs, defeated. She’s so tired, her brain’s exhausted and now that the adrenaline’s out of her system, she’s crashing hard and all she wants to do is go to bed and not have to think about how complicated her life’s just become.

“I don’t know, Oliver.”

He takes a step forward, then appears to think about it and stops. “Felicity, I just -”

“I think you should leave.” The words come out before she can second guess herself. “I’m not - I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight and you need to go deal with the cops or the insurance people, or whatever, don’t you?”

His mouth opens like he’s about to argue, then he thinks better of it. “Okay.” His piercing blue eyes meets hers and he looks so... sad. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

Her stomach twists and her heart clenches but she grits her teeth and holds her ground, nodding resolutely. “It is.”

He’s at her door within seconds and pauses just before his hand wraps around the doorknob, his broad back stiff and straight. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to fight her on this - maybe demand to stay so they can work this out, but all he does is sigh heavily, shoulders slumping. Then he yanks the door open and leaves.

He doesn't look back.

* * *

“So he didn’t just leave you like you thought he did.”

Felicity shakes her head, taking a long, much needed sip of her iced coffee. “Your parents... mother, father, I don’t know, he didn’t say, bundled him up while he was passed out and just... sent him off on the Gambit.”

Thea slumps forward and buries her head between her hands, groaning dramatically. _“Fuck.”_

“Yeah.”

The younger Queen had called earlier in the morning, frantic when she heard the news about the attack at the office. Felicity had been touched and grateful when she realised that despite her discourse with the _other_ Queen in her life, Thea still seems to want to be friends with her.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little shaken by the attack, so when Thea proposed they meet to catch up, she jumped at the opportunity to get out for some fresh air.

They meet up for brunch at her local Jitters, Thea quickly making sure that Felicity is, in fact, unharmed and okay before settling into the quiet corner booth in the back of the cafe for some privacy.

Somehow, talking about the attack on Queen Consolidated moves on to Thea asking Felicity why Oliver had come home, sad and dejected, a little worse for wear, and Felicity reluctantly spills the beans on what had happened between them.

Minus the stuff about Oliver being a wanted criminal, of course.

Before she knows it, they’re half an hour into a mostly one-sided conversation that consists of Felicity retelling Oliver’s side of the story of how he ended up on the Gambit and Thea getting more and more horrified at what she’s slowly learning.

It surprises Felicity that this is all news to Thea, but then she remembers that Oliver’s actually only been back for a little over seven months and she doubts that their one night at college ranked high on anyone’s list of things to talk about, compared to the five years he’d been missing.

“I knew mom was hiding something.” Thea lifts her head from her forearms. “I remember when she offered you the job at Q.C. after we found out you graduated early. I thought it was weird, since none of us had actually heard from you in like a year. But I guess it was just because she felt guilty. _Ugh_.”

Oh, yeah, she remembers that too. Vividly.

The offer letter from Queen Consolidated had arrived all sealed and important looking, hand delivered to her by courier. It had hurt - _so much_ \- at the time, to see the familiar logo emblazoned on the envelope, like a searing hot brand over her heart. She’d opened it out of curiosity and because she knew it would keep eating at her if she didn’t, and was genuinely surprised to see the eye-watering pay packet they were willing to offer her.

But she turned them down. Politely. Declined the offer using an equally important looking, newly designed Smoak Technology set of stationery, stating that she’s flattered, but unfortunately, she was going in a different direction with her career.

“Mom was disappointed when you said no.”

Felicity arches an eyebrow. “She was not.”

“Yes, she was,” Thea insists. “Maybe because it meant she couldn’t completely absolve herself from the shitty thing she and dad did, but I think part of her kinda hoped you’d come back. You were practically family, Felicity. You know that.”

It tugs at her heartstrings, it really does. For so long she’d refused to think about the Queens, afraid of the emotional toll it would have on her. Instead, she focused on her company, building it up to what it is today. Not that she isn’t proud of her accomplishments, but maybe - just maybe, she could have made more of an effort to reconnect.

Hindsight. A wonderful thing.

“Anyway, this is all like some crazy Shakespearean tragedy. Or a comedy of errors, only no one’s laughing. Do you realise we could have been like, sisters-in-law by now?”

“Whoa, Thea,” Felicity almost chokes on her drink, blushing. “That’s - no, we weren’t even properly together. And you know what your brother was like. I wasn’t his type, you know? Who knows if we would have even been good together, really?”

Now that’s a lie. An outright lie. One that Thea can see right through, if the look of disbelief she’s giving her is any indication.

“Not his type, please. You and I both know that’s not true. I think you owe it to yourselves to try,” Thea urges gently. “He’s been so much happier since you started working together and... hanging out. You’re hanging out, right?”

Four movie nights over the last six weeks, countless shared lunches, more than a few late nights poring over paperwork neither one of them care for. _She_ pores over them, actually. He just hovers and provides unhelpful comments, not caring that she’s looking over his company’s pretty sensitive financial information.

God, he’s a terrible CEO.

“Yeah, I suppose we hang out.”

“Interesting.” A sly grin stretches over the younger girls face. “That’s why he’s been pulling all these late hours recently. Now I know for sure.”

Felicity has to bite back the retort that’s on the tip of her of her tongue. She has a feeling, _‘Your brother also moonlights as the Hood most nights, so that’s the real reason why he’s pulling the long hours._ ’ wouldn't go down so well with her.

“It’s not interesting,” she says instead. “But it is complicated. So much time has passed, and we’re very different people from who we were back then.”

“Pffft.” Thea flicks a hand at her. “No offense, but you guys were so dumb when you were younger, and you’re still dumb now. No difference. Just kiss already, you know? And if it sucks, at least you’ll know for sure.”

But it _didn’t_ suck five years ago, and the untamed chemistry that sizzles between them whenever they’ve been alone recently sure as hell makes her think it’s not going to suck now either. With that scruff he now sports, and the way his body looks like it’s been practically carved out of marble?

Yeah, she’s sure it won’t suck.

Even so, there’s still the dark, ominous cloud of their unresolved issues and green-hooded secrets looming over them now, she doesn't know where they stand. Her feelings for him have undeniably reared their head again, but what good is it jumping into something with him when he’s so hell bent on keeping her away from such a big part of his life?

Not to mention the fact that she’s only here temporarily - something she finds herself forgetting a lot. She’s here until the project ends, then she’s meant to go back to San Francisco. Back _home._

She ignores the quiet voice in her head telling her that she’s felt more at home at Starling City over the last six weeks than she has in her two years in San Francisco.

It’s all so horribly confusing.

Talking to Thea about it isn’t going to make things any less confusing either. Not when she’s staring at her with that moony, all-knowing smirk, as if she’s expecting some sort of surprise announcement soon that they’re going to be sisters-in-law for real. It’s too much. Too overwhelming.

“Listen,” Felicity decides, taking one last sip of her coffee. “I think I’m going to go to the office and make sure last night’s attack didn’t affect our production timeline.”

“You’re going to work on a Saturday? Oliver never does that.”

“Yeah, well.” Felicity stands up and shoulders her bag. “Oliver prefers a more hands-off approach to running his company. Not that it doesn’t work for him,” she quickly backtracks. She doesn’t want Thea to get the wrong idea about her brother. “Clearly it does, but Q.C. is more established and doesn’t really need that much coddling and my company’s still... a baby. Growing. Needs all the help it can get. It looks good to the investors if the founder and CEO take a vested interest in their projects.”

Thea just looks at her, disinterest clear in her features.

“But you don’t really care.”

“Sorry, not really,” Thea laughs. “But I care that you care. So, go do your thing. Please tell me we’ll have dinner soon though?” She rises from her seat too, tossing her coffee cup into the closest trash can with ease. Then turns back and adds with a lilt in her voice, “With Ollie, maybe?”     

Felicity rolls her eyes, but she won’t take the bait. She pulls Thea into a brief hug, squeezing just a little bit as they pull apart. She really has missed her, as aggravating as she is, and she makes a silent promise to herself never to lose contact with her again, no matter what transpires between her and Oliver.

“Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

* * *

Fortunately for her, the research labs in the sub-basement levels of Queen Consolidated had been untouched by the attack from the night before. Her prototypes are in pristine condition, her programs running smoothly and a quick health check on her servers confirm that nothing’s been affected.

Being in the labs with the silent whirring of the machines around her is comforting. Every minute she spends going over her code, rewriting bits and pieces here and there, releases a little bit of the tension she’s been harbouring since her confrontation with Oliver.

Programming is easy. Simple. Logical.

Human emotions? Not so much.

So instead of going home to an empty house where she knows she’ll agonise over a whole lot of Oliver-Hood-feelings-related issues, she stays at the office and immerses herself in what she knows best: her work.

It’s not until her phone beeps loudly, and her stomach grumbles, equally as loudly, that she drags herself out of the sucking black hole of code and realises that it’s late.

Like, really late.   

Midnight late.

“Crap,” she mutters, packing up her things hurriedly. She didn’t intend on spending her entire day at the office, although the work she’s done has probably put them ahead of schedule for their next check-in with A.R.G.U.S., which is great - but now she’s starving and her eyes hurt and she’s sorely in need of a neck massage.

Her phone flashes again, this time emitting a sad whine indicating that it’s out of battery. Traitorous technology. “Double crap. Ugh.”

By the time she makes it home, she’s really feeling the stiffness in her neck, and her whole body feels heavy with exhaustion so she just dumps her bag on the floor and collapses onto her couch.

Long day.

Long twenty four hours.  

Her eyes flutter shut and she’s so tired she thinks she might just skip dinner and go straight to bed and deal with the hunger later. Tomorrow. And Oliver too. She feels herself dozing off, floating into that in-between space of wakefulness and sleep and decides she’ll give herself time to think about how she feels about him tomorrow.

Because she has to, undeniably. She has to work with him, and having this... whatever... hanging over them surely isn’t good for their relationship. Professional or otherwise.

“Felicity.”

Great, she wants to sleep and now her genius brain decides to conjure him up out of thin air, voice and all. How inconvenient. Although, since they’re here, maybe she’ll just let her giant brain conjure _more_ of him up, muscles and all -

_"Felicity!”_

Oh, shit. Actually, that sounds real. Like, he’s -

She opens her eyes and shrieks when she spots a shadow crouched down in front of her, swallowed by the darkness, and her heart jumps out of her chest and she slams into the back of the couch.

Holy sh- “What the _fuck_ , Oliver?!”

He’s right there, dressed in his entire Hood getup, eyes hidden, nothing but his jaw visible under the moonlight streaming through her windows. His gloved hands clench around the edge of the cushions like he’s trying really hard not to climb onto the couch with her.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” he growls in his Hood voice, deep, hoarse, annoyed. “Where have you been?”

“Are you kidding me?” She yelps and flies off her couch, not caring that she almost knocks him off his knees as she backs away.

“ _You_ don’t get to ask me questions. What are you doing here? Did you go out arrowing and then decide to just come over for a visit, _still dressed as the Hood?_ Did you break in? Oliver, _seriously!_ ”

"It’s not breaking in if your door was unlocked,” he counters, still annoyed, still growly. But he stands up slowly and for the first time in her life, she gets to see the Hood face to face, a mere few feet in front of her.

It’s... yeah. Hot. It’s hot.

She hates herself for it, but it’s the first thing that crosses her mind once her heart calms down. Because the leather, the green, and the way he’s so tense and rigid, intimidating and obviously vibrating with energy - is totally doing it for her.

“I - uh, you still haven’t answered me,” she stammers, hoping he doesn’t detect the lust creeping into her voice.

She’s meant to be upset still, meant to be _dealing,_ but her blood is boiling for a whole different reason now, and every cell in her body is yearning for her to run her hands over his suit and maybe tell him to turn around to see how well those pants hug his -

“I was worried. You weren’t answering your phone and you weren’t home and I just. I don’t know. _I don’t know..._ ”

He sounds lost. It’s as though being here with her has him completely undone. Tentative and unsure, not at all like the intimidating vigilante the news reports paints him to be.

Of course not, you idiot, her brain supplies. He’s Oliver. He might be dressed like a more menacing version of Robin Hood minus the tights, but he’s still _Oliver Queen_ , one of her oldest friends, the boy who stole her heart when she’d been a teenager and who she suspects, might still have it, despite what she’s telling herself.

“Can you... can you take the Hood off?” she asks. “I just... It’s weird that I can’t see your face.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he mumbles. His hands come up, slides under the hood and pushes it back, revealing his grease painted eyes, so blue still, shining through the black disguise. He pulls off his gloves and wipes the grease paint from his face.

It’s a weird dichotomy, _his_ face, wearing the Hood’s suit. Oliver and the Hood, seemingly two different people but they’re one and the same. Oliver 2.0.

“So why are you here?” she repeats slowly, trying to maintain the air of nonchalance about her. “Because I distinctly remember asking you to leave last night.”

“Felicity.”

“No, I want to know, Oliver. I’m tired of lies and half truths from you and I want you to just tell me, for once, something real.”

She doesn’t know what she’s demanding from him, exactly, but she’s sure he gets the essence of it. She just wants one conversation that doesn’t involve weaving through multiple layers of subtext and innuendo and misinterpretation.

“Real,” he murmurs, like he’s testing the word out. Tasting it on his tongue. His eyes flick to hers, then down to his feet, then back up to hers. Brave. “I... haven’t done real in a long time.”

Oh, that breaks her heart. The confession chips away at the ice and stone that had formed around it when it comes to her feelings for him. He told her himself that he finds it hard to discuss his time on the island with anyone else, and she supposes with this secret of his, it doesn’t make opening up to people any easier.

_Oh, Oliver._

She steps forward, toes gliding over her hardwood floor towards him. “Be real with me,” she whispers, reaching her hand out to tangle their fingers together.

Oliver winces like he wants to pull away, but she tightens her hold on him. Keeps her slender fingers curled around his thick, gloved ones.

“Please,” she pleads. “It’ll.. It’ll make things better, I think.”

“Yeah, okay, okay, better, I like better,” he huffs. Eyes lidded, voice low, gravelly. Sincere. Something shifts in him, like he’s been at war with himself and now, finally, one side has won out and he’s found peace.

“I came tonight because I was worried and because I needed to see you. I’ve been thinking about everything, yesterday, today, and...”

He brings their hands up, stares at their twined fingers in awe. He can’t believe that they’re here and he’s holding her hands, and she’s not moving away.

“You were right.”

“Hmm,” Felicity hums, pleased. A spark of light blooms in the bottom of her heart. “Say that again.”

“You were right. About everything,” he repeats, stronger, with more conviction. “Lying to you was stupid. Stringing you along would never have worked," he laughs bitterly. “You would have figured it out soon enough anyway. But I - I was wrong to do it in the first place. I should have never lied to you. I’m so, so, sorry. You’re important to me, I care about you and I should have treated you better.”

He exhales, long and hard, then pulls her in closer. She goes willingly, feet moving on autopilot until they’re almost chest to chest and he’s running a hand through her hair. The scent of leather and sweat and _man_ is intoxicating and she leans forward to drink more of him in.

“Yeah, you should have,” she tells him.

She feels so much lighter. His words, uttered with so much conviction, fills her with a strange, fluttery feeling in her stomach. She’s not naive enough to believe that all their issues have magically disappeared, but this is good. A good step forward.

A great step forward. Her blood sings with happiness.

Her nose brushes over the skin of his neck, feels the tendon there jerk in surprise at the contact. She stays still, luxuriating in the feelings he’s coaxing from her, basking in the comfort of being in his embrace, with his fingers stroking a soothing path through her hair.

“Felicity, I... these last six weeks have been... torture.”

He speaks like he’s at confession, his voice smooth like honey in her ear. It sends tingles of desire through her, fanning the sparks of heat simmering under her skin. Their eyes meet and she recognises the same restrained, fiery need reflected in the way he’s staring at her. He’s holding himself back like he’s afraid of how she’ll react and she decides that enough is enough.

They’re both adults. They both _want_ this. And maybe Thea’s right and they should just get over it and kiss.

“Torture?” Felicity inches forward and her lips grazes the underside of his jaw, the brief contact causing Oliver to tense up before a shiver travels through him.  

“Being around you. All the time. Not being able to... do this.” The hand still combing through her hair tilts her head back, so they’re staring at each other, raw and honest, without a single barrier between them, emotionally or physically.

If anyone asks her later, she’ll tell them that this was the moment. The moment that people talk about in books, in the movies, where everything just clicks into position like the way it’s meant to. The moment she hears angels singing of hope and never ending possibilities.

This is it. With the silent question reflected in his eyes and every molecule in her body buzzing with barely suppressed need. He’s asking for permission and she answers him.

With a searing kiss.

* * *

Seventeen, almost eighteen year old Felicity thought her very few kisses with Oliver had been positively mind-bending. Toe-curling, out of this world, one for the books kind of kisses. For ages, years after, she’d held all her other kisses to that standard.

None ever came close.  

Until now.

Until she finds herself kissing him again, five years older, with five years worth of shared baggage between them. And it’s _so much better._

His hands come up to her face, cradling it like it’s glass, precious and fragile. He holds her in place as their mouths move over each other, hard and insistent, her soft warm lips pressing against his colder, slightly more chapped ones.

She gasps into his mouth, not expecting the intensity that’s flows between them. Her own hands scramble to find a hold on him, but his leather - oh the _leather_ \- is so smooth and supple under her fingers she resorts to curling one hand behind his neck, the other clutching his waist, the tips of her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his pants.

He moans her name breathlessly as she seeks his tongue out, sweeping her own into his mouth hungrily. The combination of the coarse rasp of his stubble against her smooth skin, and the soft battle of their tongues feels so good, so delicious, like magic. She feels like she’s floating, melting into him, spurred on by the litany of _‘oh my god_ ’s and _‘please’_ s falling from both their lips - she can’t tell who says what and she’s too distracted to care.

When his hands fall from her face to bracket around her waist and he sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, she keens helplessly, leaning further into his embrace. He tastes like sin and promise and life, and everything she thought she’d never have again, and she needs _more_.

Her brain feels like it’s being overloaded, overstimulated by the clashing of their teeth, the way he chases her tongue, the way he tugs on the flesh of her lips, alternating between nibbling and sucking on it like a precursor to what he wants to really do to her.

“I want to eat you up,” he growls, back to using his Hood voice, and it shoots right through her. Sizzles down her spine, tingling right to the tips of her toes.

 _Oh god._  

Her hips slam into his - totally out of her control - at the imagery, and he groans in her ear, mouth opening to give her even more access. She whimpers, digging her fingers into the skin of her neck and - yeah, okay, _he likes that_ , she notes - and stumbles over her own feet.

“Careful,” he mumbles under his breath, ever alert, his hands sliding around her waist to rest just an inch over her ass. Like he’s trying to be a gentleman. “I got you.”

“Yeah, mmhm, you do, got me,” she babbles, heat curling from where he’s pushed one strong, thick thigh between her legs. She undulates once against him, grinning against him when the movement makes his hand slide down to her ass.

She feels his big hands squeeze once, and getting the idea, she hops up, tightening her legs around his hips for support. He hauls her up, pressing her against him so tightly she can feel every inch of him against her. Every. Solid. Inch. She crosses her ankles behind him and bucks once unabashedly.

“Oliver. Bedroom. Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he mutters then slides his lips down the side of her neck, sucking against her pulse point.

She doesn’t know how they make it to her bed, but one minute she’s fixated on the radiating heat of his tongue and teeth and beard making love to her neck, and the next she’s bouncing gently over her soft sheets, with Oliver looming over her, eyes dark and stormy, crazed with lust. His chest expands and contracts as he breathes heavily, blinking at her from the edge of the bed.

“You’re... we’re doing this.”

“Uh huh, yeah. Come on, come on,” she urges, sitting up and reaching out for him. She doesn't want to give herself time to think about what they’re about to do. If she does she’s going to get into herself and second guess things and she’s not all about that right now.

Right now, she just needs to... not think. Just _feel._

“I want to feel you, Oliver. I want you.”

That triggers something in him. The careful control he’s been exerting all night finally snaps and suddenly he’s crawling over her, strong arms travelling up the bed, on either side of her, predatory.

“You have me,” he says before he kisses her again, a hand cupping the back of her head, the other lowering her down slowly back onto the bed. His mouth lingers on her lips, not as frantic than before but no less intense. “You’ve always had me.”

Her own hands fumble over his chest until a fingernail locates the hidden zipper. She pulls it down, slides her hand under both sides and pushes it off his shoulders without preamble.

A stray thought catches her unaware. She’s just undressed the Hood. How is this her life right now? How did one night in Starling receiving an award turn into her getting in bed with Oliver Queen, the Hood -

“Hey,” Oliver brings her out of her head with a gentle peck against her lips. “Stop thinking so hard, okay?”

Nodding once, she pushes his shoulders and sits up as Oliver flops down onto her bed. She slides one leg over his waist and moans, needing a second to enjoy feeling his thick length under his pants pressing up against her heated centre.

She grinds down, hard, whimpering at the jolt of heat swirling between her legs, feeling her underwear get wetter, damp from her arousal.

She resumes her mission to undress him, slipping her fingers under the shirt he’s wearing and pulling it off. She’s seen his scars before, so they don’t surprise her, but Oliver makes a strangled noise in his throat, urging her to move on so she does - she’ll leave his scars for another time - and her hands land on his abs - _oh god, his abs_ \- and almost chokes. She leans down and her tongue darts out to taste him.

His skin is warm and salty and smooth as her she traces a path over the ridges of his abs and she’s getting more and more turned on as she travels up his chest. Her hands stretch out to the side, finding both of his fisted around her sheets. She curls her fingers around his wrist, holding him down as she takes her time with him.

Tastes him. Inch by muscley inch. Drags the flat of her tongue over his pecs, then playfully flicking against his nipple. Her ears are filled with Oliver’s groans of pleasure; he’s twitching and quivering beneath her, between her legs, and it makes her feel great. Powerful. Amazing.

“Felicity, I can’t - please get my pants off, please,” he begs breathlessly, the first full sentence he’s said in a while. His hands are squeezing her ass so tightly she thinks they’ll leave marks but she doesn’t care. Can’t care, not when he starts to rock up into her, every sharp, purposeful movement driving his hardness into the juncture between her legs.

Yup, pants off time. _Clothes_ off time.

She swirls her tongue one last time around his nipple, eliciting another shudder from him and leans back on her haunches.

Their eyes meet and without breaking contact, she crosses her arms over her shirt and pulls it off. She doesn’t waste another second, lifting herself on her knees and pulls off her pajama pants as well, taking her panties along with her.

She’s finally bare, sitting in all her naked glory on top of Oliver, desire and desperation taking over.  

Oliver’s reaction is instantaneous. He flips her as she yelps in surprise, grunting as he moves. The strength in his movements is admirable, and Felicity holds on to the sinewy muscles of his biceps as he settles her under him.

“You’re so sexy,” he mumbles, leaning down and taking her left nipple in his mouth. When he sucks on it, hard, her brain whites out.

Short circuits.

Her eyes slam shut at the sensations rippling outwards from where he’s sucking her breast, and she arches her back, desperate for more. His pants are still (woefully) on but she can’t do anything about it, not when his hips are pressing down against her heavily, the thick length of his leather-covered cock teasing her clit as he moves over her.

It’s his turn to draw designs over her skin with his tongue as he moves from one nipple to the other, painting a trail of heat down her body. She squirms under him, grinding up, seeking the friction she needs to take her further into the depths of pleasure.

His hand moves, drags down her side, and then his fingers disappear and before it registers in her pleasure-numbed brain, he’s unbuttoning his pants and tugging them off, pushing them impatiently off his hips and tossing them over the edge of her bed.

The moment she feels him, solid and smooth and _so hard,_ pressing insistently against her thigh, she’s _gone_. Lost among the noises he’s pulling from her, some of the dirtiest half-moans, half-groans that have ever left her lips in her entire life. He kisses her again, tongue sweeping over the top of her mouth like he’s reminding himself how she tastes.

She holds onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, but just as she tries to wrap her legs around his waist again, he moves away. Moves down, down, until his nose nudges her hips and when she realises what he’s going for, her stomach twists with anticipation.

_Yes._

She feels _everything_. Every slide of his fingers up up and down her legs, every breath from his lips as he kisses his way down her body. Felicity sighs, pulling her legs up, bending them at her knees to open herself up to him, a silent invitation for him to _get there_ \- _now,_ please.

But he’s stubborn and stays put, sucking and kissing and nipping just a little left of centre, his tongue darting out to lick along the crease between her thigh and her drenched centre, dangerously close to where she wants him - _needs_ him - but not quite there.

“Oliver,” she hisses, pushing up on her elbows to glare at the him. But she doesn’t anticipate what the image of his head bobbing between her legs would do to her, so sinful and _hot,_ and she has to let her head fall back onto her pillow, groaning as her arousal ticks up another notch.

Then, without warning, Oliver’s tongue sinks into her, right into the depths of her and she curses, loudly, thighs squeezing as she trembles at his ministrations. He licks at her like a man possessed, drinking up her juices as he slowly slides one finger into to her.

Her toes curl into her sheets as she whimpers uncontrollably, hands pulling at the short strands of his hair, encouraging him. His lips close around her clit and she gasps, and then another finger joins the first and he starts thrusting, builds up a rhythm that sends even more sparks of bliss through her system.

“Oliver, Oliver,” she pants, the only word she can form in her head. She’s otherwise incoherent, bucking against his face, riding his fingers with wild abandon as she feels the fire lick up her body, racing through her bloodstream, the familiar coil of pleasure unfurling deep inside and then -

And then she’s _flying._

She’s flying and gasping and arching her back so wantonly she’s curved over her bed, heart beating erratically beneath her chest. Oliver knee-walks up her bed, his fingers sliding up her stomach, soothing, cupping her breasts, kneading and massaging as he allows her the time to come down from her high.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, lips ghosting along her collarbone, guiding her left leg to hook over his hips. “So beautiful. Wanted to do that for years. Years, Felicity. Since college.”

Why is he talking so much? Isn’t she supposed to be the talkative one? But she can’t because her brain feels disconnected from the rest of her body, on the fritz from what he’s just done to her and holy shit, it’s been _so long._

“How long?” he mumbles, kissing her, effectively stopping her mid-babble. She tastes herself on his lips, and him, and the heady combination of _them_ is by far the best flavour she’s ever sampled on her tongue and she definitely needs more of this. Always. All the time.

“Long. Doesn’t matter, have you now,” she whispers. Her hands slip under his armpits, folds over his back and holds him against her.

Her other leg hooks over his hips too and her ankles cross just over his ass. The inside of her thighs are slick with her own arousal, slippery against his glorious, thick, length, and she hums as she rubs herself over him. Anticipating.

Oliver groans, forehead falling against hers as he thrusts against her slowly, the head of his cock nudging against her clit each time he slides his member between her legs, building her up again, slowly but surely. He places chaste kisses down her neck, whispering her name over and over like a prayer, magical and precious.

“Condom?” he asks, voice cracking, heavy with intention. “I mean - I assume we’re going to -”

“Agh.” She’s breathless, unable to think straight. It’s not like she came to Starling with the intention to hook up with anyone so she hasn’t bought any, but - “Oh, bag, my bag. Condom in my bag.”

He’s off of her in an instant, and she hears him rummaging around for a quick second before the telltale sound of ripping foil sends a jolt of desire thrumming under her skin.

Oliver climbs over her again, guiding her hands up and around the back of his neck. Her legs spread wide for him as she feels him settle over her. Comfortable. Fitting. Like they’re meant to be together like this. Perfect. “Okay?”

“Very okay,” she murmurs.

His eyes flutter shut for a second, savouring the moment, and when they blink open, she’s stunned by the depth of the emotion reflected in them. Love. Joy. _Trust._

A beat passes, he grins and then he’s sliding into her, slow, gentle, filling her inch by inch, and it’s her turn to slam her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the fact that this is actually happening.

He pushes in until he bottoms out, pulling simultaneous groans of pleasure from both their lips. He’s still for a moment, and he brushes the hair out of her face, kissing her sweetly. But it’s too much, she’s still sensitive from her first orgasm and she needs him to just...

“Move, Oliver,” she begs as she opens her eyes. “Please.”

And then she just lets herself feel.

Feel him.

Over her. Inside her. All around her. He starts slow, like he’s allowing her to get used to having him inside her, but she whimpers, rolls her hips so he gets deeper, scratches her nails down his back and it sets him off.

“God, Felicity,” he hisses as he picks up the pace, thrusting harder, faster, sweat slicking down their bodies. “You feel so good.”

“You too,” she grits out, matching his movements, finding their rhythm, taking everything he’s offering her.

His hands move to clutch her ass as he pumps into her, lifting her in time with his thrusts, so strong and powerful and it’s all she can do to hold onto him tight, riding the waves and waves of euphoria rippling outwards from where they’re both joined together.

The pressure building inside her starts to crest and she chants his name, trying to tell him that she’s close again, but she can’t - just can’t form the words, pleasure rocketing into her, every nerve ending shorting out as he takes her to her peak again.

She trembles under him, mewls and pants and she pulls his face down for another kiss, needing another point of contact to ground her as she feels the fire swelling through her again.

“Yeah, just like that, Felicity,” he says. “Come for me again, honey.”

And she does.

Her orgasm rips through her so violently that she lets out a scream, loud and deafening, and then Oliver’s tensing over her, jerking and groaning, a stream of nonsense falling from his lips as he comes.

Breathless and utterly spent, Oliver collapses over her after what feels like very long minutes, and Felicity curls her arms around him, cuddling him. It feels so good, so natural, to have him with her like this, both breathing hard, catching their breath as they ride out the remnants of their bliss.

She must doze off for a moment, because she’s jolted awake when her bed shifts under her. Oliver’s smiling apologetically at her, still gloriously naked, one knee on her bed, her blanket in his hands.

“Sorry I woke you. I... uh, I had to clean up,” he explains.

“Don’t be sorry,” she chuckles. She’s so relaxed, her muscles feel like they’re made of liquid and she can’t help the way her head lolls to the side. She stares at him unashamedly, drinking him in. “You gonna stay?”

His eyes widen, clearly not expecting the invitation. He licks his lips and smiles at her, goofy and cute and sweet.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always just a little nerve wracking venturing into smut. Here's to hoping it lived up to your expectations! As usual, comments are very much appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter is pretty explicit - if that isn’t your thing, please start reading from the second scene. Thanks!!

“What’s this one from?”

She taps him lightly along the side of his abdomen, then slides her soft, warm palm down the slightly protruding ridge of the scar just beneath his rib cage.

“It’s pretty,” she murmurs, the bed dipping behind him as he feels her scooting closer trying to get a better look. “Which, before you say anything, I know is weird, but it is. Pink and not pink. I like pink.”

Is it possible that she’s drunk? Because she’s speaking in the most adorably throaty voice, hoarse (he’s really smug about that) and she’s slurring her words like she’s high on sex and happiness. Sex drunk. _Ha._

They’re cuddling in her bed - he has no other words to describe what they’re doing, and boy would he love to see the look on past Oliver’s face if he knew how much current Oliver is enjoying the cuddling, and with Felicity, no less.

His head is pillowed on the inside of her arm that’s trapped between his pillow and his cheek, and they’re nestled together so unbelievably close because her bed is small - but also because they can, so why the hell not? - with Felicity’s front pressed up against his back, the big spoon to his little spoon.

Her head’s propped up over his own and they’re cheek to cheek, as she focuses her attention on tracing the scars that litter his body.

It’s surprising how okay he is with their current position; having his back turned to her, unable to see what she’s doing (oh, but he can _feel_ her, Felicity’s very tactile). His five years in hell have made him paranoid to a fault, but somehow having her at his back doesn’t elicit the same feelings of panic and unease that he expected.

Instead, he feels quite the opposite. Comforted. Safe. Whole.

“Knife fight,” he answers eventually, glancing down at the scar she’s talking about, trapping her wandering fingers between his. “Not that pretty.”

“Island knife fight, or Hood knife fight?”

If it had been anyone else asking, he’d think he’s being interrogated. But Felicity’s just curious, and she’s always has been. Genuinely interested by his scars, not motivated by the morbid hunger the media outlets and gossip magazines are driven by.

“Hood fight. One of my first ones, actually. I didn’t have Dig on board yet at the time. No back up. But you should have seen the other guy,” he tells her over a smirk.

She nibbles on his earlobe, sending a jolt of electricity to his already half-hard cock, whispering, “Why, is he more handsome than you?”

“Think you’re so funny, don’t you?” he grumbles good-naturedly, stretching his hand back to squeeze her bare waist.  

“Don’t worry, you’re like the handsom-est guy I know,” she sing-songs in his ear. She makes an effort trying to climb up his back, presumably to move so they’re face to face, but fails - they’re too tangled together - so she just falls back and brushes a wet kiss against his shoulder blade, then adds, “‘Cept for Dig. He’s pretty up there on the handsome scale. But you’re the one who just, y’know, sexed me up so good, so you win, Mr. Big Bad Hood.”

God, it feels amazing being able to talk like this, so freely, with her. No secrets between them. He’s not that naive to think they’ve solved all their issues but for now, he’s going to enjoy the very comfortable in-between they’ve found themselves in.  

It makes him unbelievably happy, and as stupid as it may seem, it feels like she’s adding so much colour to his world; now it’s tinged with shades of pink and orange and purple, Felicity’s colours, instead of the same old dreary black, white, grey, and green.

He’s becoming ridiculously sappy. Wow.

Unable to stand not seeing her face any longer, he nudges backwards, toppling Felicity off her perch on his shoulder, rolling onto his back. Sliding his arm under her, he curls it under her waist and pulls her so she ends up lying half on top of him, breasts pressing against the side of his chest, one leg slung over his hips.

“Hey, you,” she whispers, looking up at him coyly. Her eyes are a startling blue in the morning light, framed by her long lashes, sleepy and so open. Trusting.

“Hey yourself,” he replies easily, sliding his hand down her very naked spine slowly, enjoying the way she hums under his touch, her own fingers spreading wide over his chest, warm and soothing over his scar-marred skin.  

“So, I gotta say, last time we shared a bed it was definitely not as enjoyable,” she giggles, pressing an open mouthed kiss along his collarbone.

“Hangovers are generally not enjoyable, Felicity,” he reminisces with her. “I personally enjoyed it though. You were too busy thinking you were dying from alcohol poisoning to notice.”

“Wha-at?” she pulls back, elbowing him gently as she climbs up over him, straddling his waist, eye to eye. “You what?”

“Felicity,” he huffs, hands now very comfortably resting on her ass, kneading them rhythmically. “I was a twenty-one year old college guy, snuggling in bed with you, and you were... I mean, you were you.”

“But,” she swallows, and he’s drawn to her lips, so pink, kiss-swollen, and a little red around the edges from beard burn, so very _hot_. “But we were - _wait._ Since then? That’s...”

He’s man enough to admit it.

“Yeah. Well, actually, if we’re talking physical reactions, since before that too. You’re gorgeous, Felicity. And you’re hot. Sexier than you think you are. I’ve always been attracted to you, maybe even since before college. But... I didn’t realise that it was more than that... until it was too late.”  

Blinking owlishly at him, she sits up, rearranging her lithe body so she ends up astride his abs, hands supporting herself on his shoulders. Her breasts, beautiful and pert, come into full view and he suppresses a moan at the sight. Her nipples pebble before him and his heartbeat ratchets up a notch as he takes in the way she’s baring herself unashamedly in front of him.

In a voice that sounds like it’s coming from very far away, she mumbles, “Better late than never, I suppose.”

He’s having a lot of trouble focusing on anything else that isn’t her naked body rising over his and it takes him a second to remember that they’re talking about how long he’s been attracted to her.

“So much better,” he agrees, gliding a hand up her thighs, drawing goosebumps in its wake as he zeroes in on her sex. His hand stops at the juncture of her thighs, then with a cursory glance up to her face, he drags his thumb down, finding her clit and he presses right into it.

“Oliver!” she gasps, losing her balance, falling forward, only just catching herself before she face-plants onto him. “Fu-uck!”

Grinning silently, he increases the pressure against her swollen nub, alternating between circling and rubbing it and a string of incoherent, half-formed curses fall from her lips as she bucks wildly at his ministrations.

She’s so _wet_. God, so wet.

He can’t help himself, needing to taste her again, so he pulls his hand away, fingers drenched, laughing at the offended, almost murderous glare Felicity gives him as he does so.

“I just wanna taste you,” he explains, eyes fixed on her, slowly bringing his soaked thumb to his lips.

Her flavour explodes on his tongue and he groans, licking his finger clean, his gaze not once leaving hers. She watches him, unblinking, eyes so dark they’re almost black, skin pink from the blush rising up from her stomach all the way up to her cheeks

So this is Felicity turned on. Very turned on. They’d been too consumed by each other the night before, he didn’t get a chance to truly appreciate her body but now that he can, he wants to see her like this all the time, he decides. Every day. Forever.

“That’s... hot, so hot,” she says, voice cracking, interrupting his thoughts. Then she leans forward and pulls his hand from his mouth, then tugs both his wrists behind her and places them on her ass. “Now don’t move. Don’t move a muscle, Oliver. Until I say you can.”

He nods obediently. Yeah, he’s so behind this. Sex games, _yes._

She’s still so slippery between her legs, more so after his bout of teasing, spreading her arousal over his body as she squirms to get comfortable on top of him. He grunts at the sensation, digging his fingers harder into the flesh of her very ample ass cheeks.

Felicity whimpers, arching her back, shuddering as he bucks up a little into her, breaking the rules of her game - not that she seems to be minding very much.

She’s a goddess. A goddess of sex and sin and beauty and he can’t tear his eyes away from her, committing the image of her grinding down on him to his memories forever.

She shifts, switching up her movements so she’s rocking gently in small circles against his lower abdominals. It’s as though she’s experimenting with his body, figuring out what’s good and what’s totally doing it for her and the thought sends his entire body into overdrive.

His feels like he’s on fire, and her slickness burns like molten lava on his skin. Part of him wants to just flip her off him and drive into her over and over until she’s screaming his name again but oh - he _can’t._

He can’t because he’s too enthralled by her, so engrossed watching her use his body to get herself off, so he’s happy to just lie back, letting her undulate wantonly over him, her hands on his shoulders, head tipped back in pleasure. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and bites down, hard, and as Oliver thrusts his hips up again, she lets go of her lip and a dirty, filthy gasp falls from her mouth.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he groans. “Don’t hold back, Felicity.”  

His cock is now fully erect and standing at attention, almost painfully so, his solid length sliding between her cheeks each time she rocks backwards. He’s going to need some form or relief soon, or he’s going to burst and he only has so much self-control when she’s moving over him like that, so free and untamed and -

“Condom,” Felicity rasps, as if she’s reading his mind, grinding hard against his body, frustration building in her eyes.

He suspects she’s not getting the friction she needs, what with how slick she is. Her nails dig into his skin so hard he’s sure she’s drawing blood and she growls at him again. “Please, please move, get a condom. Need you in me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he agrees, hissing when her nails scratch further down his chest. It makes him push himself up using his elbows and Felicity slides back, almost comically, before he bands an arm around her to keep her in place. His other hand feels blindly around them, searching for the strip of condoms they’d thrown somewhere onto the bed late last night.

Eventually his fingers meet with the foil packaging and he unearths it from the blanket, grinning triumphantly as he holds in in front of her.

“Oh. Yeah,” she groans, lifting up on her knees to reposition herself over his thighs. His stiff hardness is now nestled between both their bodies, engorged and magnificent, leaking with the evidence of his need. Her eyes flicker down to it, then back up to his face, tongue darting out to wet her lips. Teasing. Anticipating.

He slides the condom on efficiently, not wasting anymore time, all the while holding Felicity in place. When he’s fully sheathed, she leans in and kisses him, whole and hard, teeth clashing as she devours him hungrily, hands moving from his chest to clutch his biceps.

He’s starting to catch on that she has some sort of awed fixation with his muscles and he files that way for future use. He flexes his arms under her grip, clenching his abs too for sheer measure, and Felicity keels over, head bowing, trembling in his lap as she pulls away just to let out a breathy moan at his blatant peacocking.

And then she’s back, nose brushing against his, sucking almost violently on his top lip, mewling as she rolls her delicate body against his. His aching cock is trapped tightly between them, and the way she’s undulating against his body, sliding sensuously up and down the underside of his cock, sets him even more on fire.

It’s devastatingly perfect. _She’s_ perfect.  

Every single nerve ending in his body feels like it’s being electrocuted. She’s everywhere all at once, in his lap, in his mouth, around him, wet and slick and hot.

Before he realises it, she’s rising up on her knees, her movements pausing as she looms over him. Her naked breasts are right there - right in front of him, so he leans in and sucks, totally on instinct. He pulls on her hard, pebbling nipple, swirls his tongue and nibbles, employing every trick in his playbook to unravel her some more. He uses a hand to massage her other breast, slipping the hardened tip between his fingers as he drags his warm palm over it.

“God, Oliver,” she pants, arching into his mouth, bucking again, leaving more of her arousal smeared across his body. “ I’m gonna - ugh - fuck, want you in me when I come,” she babbles. “Come on, come on.”

Any other time, he’d probably find her desperation cute and adorable, but he’s just as wrecked and desperate as she is, craving that final connection, so he gives her nipple one last hard suck and releases it with a small ‘pop’. He slides his hands to bracket around her waist, shifting her as she rises up, with the intention to guide her onto him.

Only, he’s taken by complete surprise when she leans back and pushes him against his shoulder. Hard. He loses his balance, falling backwards, head hitting the pillow as she crawls up over him.

Her hands creep up his body, fingers finding their place on his shoulder once more. Her knees spread wide on either side of him and her drenched centre hovers over his thick, pulsing member.

She grins, then licks her lips. “I wanna ride you,” she husks. “Just like this.”

Oh.

He swallows, barely containing the groan that falls from his lips as the flames of need lick further up his spine. The idea of being at her mercy, surrendering control as she takes what she wants from him? Yes. _Yes_.

He nods, teetering on the edge of being completely undone, finding that he’s totally into this as Felicity steals another sloppy kiss from him.

And then without warning, she slams down onto him.

Engulfs him in her heat. Wet, hot and tight, sliding over him.

_“F-uck!”_

He doesn't remember which one of them says it but he doesn’t care. They’re both wide eyed and breathless, and when their eyes meet, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and does something - _oh_ \- squeezes him internally and he sees stars.

He thrusts up into her, and the sound she makes is music to his ears; a throaty, wild growl that rumbles all the way through her body and he feels it right in his bones.

She rides him, like she promised, quick and hard and with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. He can’t do anything, synapses misfiring, white hot pleasure coursing in his blood, so intense he has to slam his eyes shut.

His hands dig into her thighs, probably hard enough to bruise but Felicity doesn’t seem to mind. She bounces up and down on him, twisting and grinding, using her muscles to milk him as she moves and its -

It’s - oh -

“Felic - baby, _god_ , so good,” he rambles on as she increases her speed, making his toes curl.

“Look at me, Oliver,” she grunts, leaning down and licking the side of his neck, collecting the droplets of sweat forming on his skin on her tongue. The sensation is _amazing_ and he groans, twisting his head to capture her lips between his.

“Look at me when you come.” Her demand leaves no room for question and his eyes flicker open again.

He takes in the sight before him, her body riding his so gloriously, breasts bouncing with every movement. Her hair is wild, golden in the sunlight, her skin sweaty and pink from exertion. Her cheeks are flushed, mouth slightly agape as she pants through every downward thrust.

The familiar coil of tension at the base of his spine starts to unfurl and he removes his hands from her thighs. Pushes up on his elbows for leverage, changing up the angle he’s entering her from and, _oh yes_ \- that hits her deeper and elicits a strangled whimper from from her throat.

“Oliver, I’m gonna - gonna come,” she whispers haltingly, gasping harder with each erratic movement.

He moves one hand up her back that’s slick with sweat and plants the other on the bed next to him for support as he pistons furiously into her. Her own digits dig into his hair as she holds on, instinct, more than intent driving her movements.

“Yeah, c’mon Felicity. That’s it.”

And then she cries out, shuddering, body arching as she rides out her orgasm. She collapses over him, slumped over in his embrace, breathing hard. She chants his name, almost like she doesn’t realise what she’s doing, maintaining a steady pace as she grinds even harder down on him. Helping him along.

He drives into her, chasing his own release, feeling every inch of her walls tightening and squeezing, pulsating, leaving him gasping for air as he thrusts up once last time.

And then he shatters.

* * *

Dig finds out about them pretty much right away.

Mainly because he nearly walks into Felicity sneaking out of Oliver’s office on Monday evening, ponytail askew, lips suspiciously bare of her trademark bright lipstick, skirt slightly lopsided.

“Productive meeting?” His bodyguard smirks, raising his eyebrows at her, then cutting a glance at him. He holds the door open for her, polite as ever. “He give you a thorough _debriefing?_ ”

Oliver cringes as he watches the exchange, knowing that Felicity’s probably mortified, if the pink creeping up the back of her neck is any indication. She looks back at him with big round eyes, but Oliver just shrugs. No point in hiding it.  

He can’t help the smile that stretches across his face as he watches his... girlfriend? Partner? Soulmate? Right. Okay, so maybe they’ve been too busy making up for lost time to define exactly what they are to each other. It’s probably something they should talk about soon, if only for the sake of clarity - but for now, he’s content to watch her flounder her way through a flimsy explanation, talking with her hands as she shoots him a dirty look for not helping.

Felicity scowls at him when it’s clear Diggle isn’t buying any of her excuses. “I hate you.” 

Oliver just grins. “I’ll call you later,” he tells her as she stalks out his office, surreptitiously adjusting her skirt.

“So when did that happen?” Diggle asks once he shuts the door, folding his arms over his ridiculously broad chest, presumably in an attempt to look intimidating.

If he wasn’t totally comfortable in his own skin, constantly being around someone built like Diggle would be demoralising. But he is, and as far as he can tell, Felicity has zero complaints about his body either so Oliver just smiles and sits down, stretching his legs under his desk.

“Saturday,” he answers. His mind brings up flashes of that night, their fight and subsequent making up. He feels all soft and squishy inside and it should be embarrassing, but all he feels is... joy. He’s _happy_.

“When you refused to come back to base because Felicity wasn’t answering her phone and you panicked?”

Oliver meets Diggle’s stare head on, unflinching. “Yup.” He releases the ‘p’ with a small pop and folds his hands before him on his desk.

Diggle looks like he’s preparing to interrogate him or something, so Oliver squares his shoulders and sighs. “Okay, let me have it. Say what you want to say, and be done with it, Dig.”

“I know you’ve been carrying a torch for her for a long time but have you really thought this through? Getting involved with her now, with all... you know, everything else? Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to not listening to you pine after her anymore, but are you aware of what this means? For both of you?”

Ah. An easy one. Oliver smiles. “She’s fine with it.”

“Is she actually fine with it, or do you just _think_ she’s fine because you guys haven’t actually talked about it? ‘Cause you're not exactly the poster boy for healthy communication, and she doesn’t seem like someone who tolerates bullshit, or someone who will sit back and do nothing when she knows she can help. What happens when you have to cross someone off that list of yours? How much are you going to tell her? What if she wants to help?”

 _That_ makes him hesitate.

Okay.

He has a point.

Felicity had been like a dog with a bone with the whole Vertigo thing, relentless about helping him. And as much as he doesn't want to admit it, Diggle’s right. It’s in her nature and she’ll _want_ to help. Especially if she finds out that she has the skill set that they’re sorely missing in terms of their still bare-boned vigilante operation.

“We haven’t really had time to... discuss it in detail,” Oliver admits.

Then an image pops up in his head, unbidden, of some thug attacking her, or God forbid, kidnapping her because of her association with the Hood, and a chill runs down his spine.

He recalls with startling clarity, how terrified she’d been during the shootout at the party, pale and shaking behind the statue as the bullets whizzed past them. His stomach churns, twisting at the thought of unwittingly putting her in danger because of the kind of life that he leads - and a little bit of his happy spark dims, heart clenching at the thought.

Maybe he really _hasn’t_ thought this through.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Diggle responds sagely, as if he can see right into his mind.

“You know it’s really annoying when you do this whole _wise owl_ thing,” Oliver grumbles. He hates Diggle a little right now, the man responsible for putting a damper on his momentary bliss.

“I’m just looking out for you, man. And her. She’s great, and amazing, and I think you two deserve to see where this leads, but you should both be coming into this with all your cards on the table, is all I’m saying. Don’t make the mistake that I did with Lyla.”

Oliver’s eyes flick up in surprise. He can count on one hand the number of times Diggle’s volunteered any information about his failed marriage to the current of A.R.G.U.S. director. He hadn’t mentioned a thing when Oliver told him about working with the organisation, so bringing Lyla up now seems important. Like it means something.

It feels like the bubble of happiness (and sex and laughter and more sex) he’d been living in for the past thirty or so hours is about to burst, and a cold darkness creeps around his heart. Can he really do this? Balance a relationship with her and fulfill his duty to carry out his father’s injustices at the same time? If it came down to it, and he had to choose between her and his list of names, would he be able to?

Sighing, he rakes his fingers through his hair (Felicity had done the exact same thing less than half an hour ago, tugging at the short strands as he he sucks a bruise along her collarbone) and nods at Diggle.

“I’ll talk to her,” Oliver tells Diggle. “I promise.”

* * *

 

Much to Diggle’s chagrin, and Oliver’s secret relief, Felicity doesn’t get a second to breathe over the next week. Their project ramps up, with the attack on Queen Consolidated keeping everyone on their toes and motivating them to work faster, making sure they’re hitting their deadlines well ahead of time.

Felicity barely leaves the office, opting to catch short naps on her couch and eventually resorting to keeping a change of clothes with her so she doesn’t have to go home before starting a new day.

It’s frustrating and worrying, because no matter what Oliver does, she’s steadfast about it and nothing he says, and no number of breathtaking kisses manages to draw her away from her work.

It also means all talks of their relationship - _whatever_ their relationship is - has been put on hold. They remain in a comfortable, in-between, neither here nor there place, and as much as he knows they should be having a conversation about it, he’s also glad to be able to put it off because it’s such a tricky subject to navigate and he really doesn’t want to upset their very delicate status quo.

They steal kisses and make the most of the brief moments of reprieve at work, but mostly, over the next five days, Felicity remains cooped up in her office and the research labs, which allows Oliver to keep pulling double duty as CEO and the Hood with relative ease. 

Until of course, the day it all blows up in his face.

It happens on Saturday - a whole week after the seismic shift in their relationship - just as Oliver gets his first real lead on the Vertigo supplier after Felicity sends him some information of the work up she’d done on the drug.  

Felicity sends him a text message late in the afternoon, short and a little adorable.  _‘Finally going home yay! See you later?’_ then follows it up with those icon things he doesn’t understand of a wine bottle and a pair of red lips.

He responds eagerly, calling her straight away, a smile blooming on his face.

“I’ll bring dinner,” he offers, but then with a heavy heart remembers that he’s in possession of the address of the warehouse he believes the Count is operating out of. Making a split second decision, ignoring the warning bells going off in his head, he tells her, “But maybe a little later, I’ve got a friend I’m supposed to be meeting. Eight okay?”

“Perfect!” She hangs up with a cheery giggle, and it makes Oliver feel terrible about lying to her.

Okay, it’s only a little white lie, he tells himself.  And he doesn’t want to worry her, not after the week she’s had. He’s just going to stake out the warehouse to gather intel on the drug ring. He’ll spend a few hours watching them and still have time to get dinner for them.

It’s a good plan.

In theory.

Unfortunately for Oliver, everything pretty much spirals downhill from the moment he puts the Hood on. His plan to silently watch the warehouse goes awry when he realises the Count is far more resourceful than he’d given him credit for, installing motion sensors on the roof and hiring a group of well armed thugs to guard his operation.

It takes Oliver far too long to find an alternative view point and by the time he gives up, he’s agitated, frustrated and so fucking _done_ with this whole Vertigo thing. He’s itching for a fight, adrenaline coursing through his veins, pissed off at this asshole who has managed to evade him for this long, so he throws away his dumb plan and just... drops in on them.

Better to end this once and for all.  

It’s mostly a blur from then on, facing the Count’s goons, trading blow for blow, shooting arrow after arrow into nameless bodies as he dismantles the drug ring as effectively as he can.

Diggle, through the comms in his ear, tells him his phone’s blowing up, but Oliver’s laser-like focus doesn’t allow him the luxury of dwelling on it when he’s busy concentrating on not dying in the middle of a pretty one-sided fight.

He can hear the sirens of the cops approaching and he knows he needs to leave before he gets made, but the thugs are relentless. He weathers a few bruising punches to his body, feels the pain of a few close-calls with the sharp end of a blade, but eventually, he manages to subdue the asshole who calls himself the Count (he imagines Felicity joking about it like, ‘He’s the vampire from Sesame Street!’ she’d say) and leaves his unconscious body for the S.C.P.D to find.

It’s only when he gets back to the bunker to Diggle’s grim expression that he remembers his phone and figures out something’s up.

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Diggle admonishes, throwing his phone at him. “I specifically told you to talk to her.”

“Who, Felicity?” Oliver asks, looking down at the screen. “I...” He falters as he scrolls through the messages she’d been sending all night. Five missed calls.

Fuck.

_'Hey, are you still coming over? Got your favourite bottle of wine waiting for you :)’_

' _Not to... bring up old, painful, shitty memories, but you not replying me is actually bringing up old, painful, shitty memories so it would be really cool if you answer me.’_

_'Oliver?’_

_'Your GPS says you’re still here in Starling, so I guess that’s better than you being lost at sea again, can you please just call me back so I know you’re okay, at least?’_

_‘You know what, I’m tired. Already ate. Don’t come over. Night.’_

Fuck.

Spurred on by fear and regret and the sinking feeling in his gut at the hurt that he can practically feel in her words, he discards his Hood and his pants, throwing them in some dark corner of the Foundry. He doesn’t bother with the stinging cuts along the side of his body, doesn’t give himself a second glance in the mirror to assess the damage he’s copped from the Count’s men.

He just knows that he has to fix this.

Now.

“It’s midnight, you know that, right?”

Oliver grunts, but keeps going. Shirt on, jeans on. Wallet - where’s his wallet? Keys.

“Maybe it’ll be better if you talk to her tomorrow, in the morning, when you’re both not emotionally compromised?”

“Dig,” Oliver growls, slipping his hands into the sleeves of his bike jacket, one foot on the bottom stair.

“I fucked this up once before, and I hurt her, the one person besides Thea who I promised myself I would never hurt again. So I need to fix this. I need her to know that I didn’t... I just lost track of time, and I still...”

He shakes his head, waving goodbye to Diggle, taking the stairs two at a time. “I just need to go. We can deal with the Count tomorrow.”

* * *

 

He climbs in through the window in her kitchen that she never remembers to lock.

He’s mentioned it to her every time he’s visited, but she likes to leave it open to let the afternoon breeze in and conveniently forgets to relatch it each time, much to his eternal chagrin.

“Felicity?”

All the lights except the one in her kitchen are turned off so a soft glow illuminates the space around him. He meanders his way through the kitchen, then into the living room, finding an unopened bottle of wine on the table that sends him spiralling into another deep, dark, hole of self-loathing. There’s an empty pizza box on the floor by her couch and he bends over to pick it up, dumping it in the recycling bin as he calls her name again.  

No answer. Of course not. It’s midnight and she’s had a fucking terrible week, you idiot.

Does he - does he dare go into her room? Are they at that stage in their relationship yet? A cold chill travels down his spine when he realises that... there might _not_ be a relationship in the first place?

Shit.

But then he hears a soft shuffling behind him, a rustle of clothing and he turns around, bracing himself for -

God, she’s cute. Adorable. Gorgeous.

Her hair’s pulled back in a loose bun on top of her head, stray strands framing her face. She’s wearing her ‘Byte Me’ tank top that ends just above her waistline, revealing a strip of skin, tantalising and pale and smooth, and the sausage dog pajama pants again. She’s holding a baseball bat loosely in her left hand. Her right hand is clutched tightly around her phone.

Breathtaking.

“What’re you doin’ here, Ol’ver?” she asks, words laced with sleep, like she’s not quite aware of what’s happening around her.

“Felicity, I -”

It’s as if hearing her name fall from his lips triggers something in her, and he watches as her bleary, sleepy expression transforms before him. Anger flashes across her face, then her eyes narrow and she takes a step back away from him. Steely. Her eyes glint like steel and he knows he’s in trouble.

“Go home.”

A _lot_ of trouble.

“Can you please let me exp-”

"No. It’s late, and I just really want to sleep. So you can see yourself out.”

“Please, Felicity. I just... I lost track of time tonight, I promise, I didn’t mean to-”

She swings the baseball bat dangerously upwards, cutting him short. “You didn’t mean to lie to me and say you were with a friend, when you were actually out taking down the Vertigo ring?”

He blinks. How did she...

“I heard something on the news about it and put two and two together. I’m not an idiot, Oliver.”

Of course. She’s... tenacious. And smart. And so unbelievably amazing and he’s just...

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, rattled, off-kilter. But he knows he needs to get it out. All out. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t think it would take that long, it was just meant to be a simple stakeout, and I swear I thought I had time to get back. I’m sorry, Felicity.”

The baseball bat clatters to the ground and she makes a weird noise in her throat. A small whimper-groan thing and it’s so sad, it makes him want to punch himself in the face for being responsible for causing it. She’s curled into herself, hunched over, hands crossed over her stomach.

“Oliver, I think...” she sucks in a shuddering breath and turns away from him. The hair on the back of his neck prickles and dread creeps under his skin. She leans over her kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. Pushes her phone away with the tip of her finger, then pulls it back.

“I think maybe we made a mistake.”

_What?!_

The sheer panic he’s feeling almost sends him to his knees.

He single-handedly took down a group of hired guns tonight and that had been _nothing_ compared to this. Bile rises in his throat as he entertains the horrible, gut-wrenching thought that she thinks they made a mistake. That _they’re_ a mistake. Even repeating it mentally is soul-crushing.

“Felicity, what -”

“Maybe we got caught up in the, I don’t know, nostalgia, or whatever.” Her shoulders sag and she holds her face in her hands. Buries her head so that all he can see is her hair, pale and golden in the night.

He’s itching to reach out, to soothe the tension that’s radiating off of her, to hug her, to tell her that they’re not a mistake. Tell her that he will do anything, and everything to make it up to her, that he’s so desperately in love with her.

But she continues talking, her voice muffled as she speaks into the open palm of her hand. “I get it you know, the whole, epic romance thing, spanning years and continents, lives ruined and bloodshed... but I don’t think that’s how a relationship should start.”

“That’s _not_ how we started.” It’s the first full sentence he’s managed to say to her, and he draws some strength from the fact that she doesn’t seem so intent to interrupt him again.

“This isn’t nostalgia. It isn’t just an attempt at making up for a missed opportunity, okay, Felicity? Yeah, the sex - maybe we jumped into that too quickly, and I’m not complaining, but I don’t... We’re _not_ a mistake.”

She doesn’t do anything, doesn’t make any indication that she’s even heard him, so he moves, cautiously, to stand next to her. He reaches a hand out, hovers for a second and very gently places it over her shoulder. She doesn’t push him away, which makes him feel a little bit better. In fact, she leans imperceptibly closer, tucking her shoulder into his hand.

She’s quiet when she speaks again. “Don’t you... don’t you think that maybe, you kinda have one foot out the door though? With all of this?”

Turning around and sucking in a deep breath, she re-adjusts her glasses and stares at him. Her hands are clasped, twisting and rubbing her fingers together, and it looks like she’s preparing for some sort of speech.

“Because it feels like you do. You keep things from me. Important things. Hood things, that you know I can help with and for some stupid reason you won’t let me. You lie to me instead. And it’s been an entire week since... since y’know we... and we haven’t talked about it. It feels like you’re waiting for something bad to happen so you have an excuse to leave and then poof, bye Felicity, see ya later... and if that’s what it is, let me just put it out there that it’s a shitty thing to do, but you can tell me and we just end all of this right now. No questions asked. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. People leave. It happens.”

What the actual fuck? Was this what she thought all week? That he’s been biding his time until he calls this entire thing off? Has he not showed her, _told_ her how much she means to him?

He hasn’t, really, the voice in his head says. He _hasn’t._ Not since that first emotionally charged night.

Dig warned him about this but he’d ignored him. Like an idiot. Like an idiot who hasn’t realised up until now that Felicity has a near paralysing fear of abandonment and he just... he's made it worse.

Like a fucking asshole.

God, how could he do this to her?

He cups her face in his hands, tilts it upwards so he can look at her. Really look at her. He tries to infuse as much sincerity in his words as he can, pouring every ounce of truth into the words he wants her to hear from him.

“Felicity, that is not what’s happening. I don’t have one foot out the door.”  

Her breath comes out in puffs, warm and sweet between them, and it looks like she’s on the verge of tears and God, he just... he can’t have this on his conscience. He can’t be responsible for hurting her again, so he’s just going to... tell her.

“I love you, Felicity. I’m in this. I might need time to readjust to... sharing, not defaulting to doing things on my own, and get better at asking for help.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, trying to stop the nervous twitching in his right eye. When he opens them again, she’s still staring expectantly at him, curious and maybe a little hopeful.

He repeats himself, reiterating his conviction. “I’m _all in_. I promise I’m not leaving. Now, or ever.”

He feels her trembling, watches as her eyes widen at his confession. Her features soften, her so very kissable, pink lips parting as she exhales, long and contemplative.

Her hands twists the material of his shirt, causing him to stumble forward. She blinks, once, twice, and then nods like she’s made some sort of decision in that brilliant mind of hers.  

“I’m still mad at you,” she whispers, and the nervous twitch in his eye returns. Cold dread creeping back into his blood. “But that’s... that’s good. They’re good words.”     

Feeling brave, he pulls her in, their height difference putting her in the right position to tuck herself into the crook of her neck. He slides his hand down to curve loosely around her waist. He cheers a little on the inside when she doesn’t resist.

“They’re not just words. I’m going to prove to you that I mean them. Total honesty from now on, no more secrets. No more lies.”

Felicity hums, still sceptical, and he wants to banish any lingering doubts from her head.

He clears his throat and launches into his explanation. “Today, when I lied, it’s because I didn’t want to worry you. It’s inexcusable, I know, but that’s why I did it. I was going to just have a look, and then go back to the Foundry, pick up some Chinese and come straight here. But the bastard changed things up and there were motion sensors where there shouldn’t have been and I got caught. Ended up in a fight I didn’t want to have, and I lost track of time.”

Her hands slide around his waist. Holding onto him. Hugging him. “The Foundry?”

He looks down at the top of her head, eyebrows furrowed. _That’s_ what she's choosing to focus on? “Um, yeah. Our base of operations.”

“Cool.”

Cool? Okay, that’s unexpected. Unexpected, but better than sad and hurt and suddenly he doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating anymore, the invisible ropes around his throat loosening. The mood between them shifts and the gnawing, unsettling, doubt he’s been harbouring through their entire conversation dissipates.   

“If you hadn’t been so stupid and told me the truth instead, I could have told you about the motion sensors,” she murmurs into his shirt. She tilts her head back, resting a palm against his racing heart. “Coulda helped.”

“You could have,” he agrees without hesitation.

“And I want to,” Felicity states as she pushes him backwards, fully separating them and folds her arms over her chest. The determination reflected in her eyes leaves no room for question. “You need help, and I want to help.”

Yeah, as if he’s going to deny her. After the brutal beating his heart has been through, he’s willing to give her the moon if she asked for it. He nods once and a shadow of a grin flits across her face.

“Okay, then. Good.”

Then without another word, she sidesteps past him and grabs her phone off the kitchen counter. She keeps walking, leaving Oliver at a loss because - okay, is he supposed to leave now? Because they haven’t kissed or anything, and he really wants to because they’ve just survived a pretty gnarly fight and he thinks that at the very least he should get a good night kiss? Maybe?  

She’s almost turning the corner to where her room is when she stops and turns around.

He can barely make out her face in the dark, but he swears her eyes are rolling.

 “You coming to bed, or what?”   

* * *

 

_Have some errands to run. Lock up when you leave, thanks!_

The note he found on her pillow when he woke up mocks him.

One, because he can’t believe he slept through Felicity waking up, getting ready and leaving to go wherever she’s going. And two, because it doesn’t say where she’s going and that’s just a little bit disappointing.

He expected to wake up next to her, maybe fool around a little, have a lazy Sunday, but those hopes are now dashed and if she’s expecting him to lock up when he leaves, that means she’s not coming back any time soon.

Bummer.

He spreads himself out on her bed, enjoying the feel of her soft, silky sheets on his skin, burying his head into her pillow, inhaling her familiar scent. Filling his lungs with it like a man starved for air.

God, he’s so in love with her.

She didn’t say it back to him last night, but he doesn’t mind. As long as she’s aware of the depth of his feelings for her, he’s satisfied. And she does. They talked for a long time after round one of making up, whispering in the dark, lazy and blissed out, words melting into their skin as they rode out their orgasms.

They’re _together_ , together, they established. No more questions, no more doubts. She’ll help him with his late night crusade, as long as when it comes to her safety, she takes her cues from him. A workable compromise.

Grinning like a fool, he climbs out of her bed and stretches, wincing when he feels the twinge of a pulled muscle from his fight the night before. He’ll have to have Diggle look at it later and makes sure he hasn’t done any irreparable damage to himself.

He takes a quick shower, then laments the state of her very empty fridge and decides to leave. His phone’s dead, and he doesn’t want to wait around for it to charge so he locks up as she instructed, and makes his way to the Foundry.

If he’s lucky, Diggle might be there and he can have a look at his bruises. He has a charger there too, and once he’s all charged up, he’ll figure out what his girlfriend _(girlfriend!_ ) is up to.

* * *

 

As it turns out, it’s not Diggle that he finds in the Foundry.

He walks down the stairs, footsteps echoing, only to pause at the sight before him. His computer monitor is unplugged, cables left disconnected all over the floor. The CPU-thingy has been dismantled, various parts pulled out and strewn across the desk.

His first instinct is to make a run for his bow, but then he spies a telltale red pair of heels on the floor, by the chair and he releases a sigh of relief.

“Um... Felicity?”

“Oh!”

Her voice floats up towards him, a little startled - how, he doesn't know, he made quite a racket coming down - and then her head pokes out from under the desk, hair dishevelled, a wide grin on her face. Gorgeous.

She has a pen in her mouth and a pair of earbuds hang around her neck. “You’re here!” she exclaims around the pen.

Oliver crouches down so they’re eye to eye as she crawls out from under the desk. “How did you get in here and what exactly, are you doing?”

“Well,” she drops the pen and rolls her neck, releasing the tension that’s obviously built up from her time huddled under the desk. She shuffles around, then pulls her leg in so she’s sitting down cross-legged, peering up at him, tongue sticking out from between her lips.

“You mentioned this _Foundry_ place last night, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Buzz buzz buzz, all morning, y’know, and you were sleeping like the dead, and I didn’t wanna wake you. Guess I tired you out, huh?” she smirks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I pinged your GPS history, which, on that note, remind me to teach you how to mask that, because well, see what happens when you don’t?” She waves her hand in front of her body, still grinning, clearly enjoying herself.

“Anyway, you’re here all the time, like _all the time_ , at night, so I figured if you had a base, this would be it. And your security is terrible, I got in in under a minute, by the way, and here I am!”

“You’re...” he can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from his chest. Shaking his head, he leans down towards her, catching her lips in a short kiss. “You’re so smart, God, Felicity, do you know how hot that is?”  

“Hmm, I’m starting to get an idea,” she says, eyes sparkling. Her teeth catches his bottom lip for  a quick nibble, before she gently pushes him back. “I’m upgrading your dumb computers, by the way.”

“Hey!” he protests, standing up. His knees really don’t like him crouching down for that long. He leans his hip against the edge of the desk, gazing down at her indignantly. “These belonged to Queen Consolidated, they’re not dumb!”

“Did they belong to Queen Consolidated back in the eighties?” she snarks, tilting her head, mocking him. She leans back and pulls out a slim, black device, holding it out in front of her.

“Until I can get better hardware down here, I’m gonna have to just to take this apart and play around with it for a temporary fix.”

Oliver has no clue what she’s doing, or holding, for that matter, but he trusts her. Intrinsically. She turns the device around, uses her fingernails to slide through some grooves on the side, studying it intently.

Oh. This is strangely familiar.

_Oh, wow._

It hits him all of a sudden, _why_ it’s familiar. The memory is crystal clear in his head even though it’s been years. Even though they’ve both gone through hell between then and now.

The memory plays in his mind, rewinding back to the the day he first met her; the strange, adorable ten year old kid who sat down right in the middle of the Queen Consolidated research lab, begging to fix his laptop for him.

The strange, adorable kid who then kept coming back, year after year, who became his best friend, his confidante, one of the most important people in his life, the light of his entire goddamn existence.

His heart clenches, overwhelmed, because here she is again, thirteen years later, no longer strange, still adorable, more gorgeous, sitting on the floor much like she did then, fixing his computer. She doesn’t bother asking _this_ time, though.

“Felicity,” he rasps, unable to hide the emotion in his voice. He flicks a hand at her, then at him, trying to convey the significance of it all wordlessly.

She stares up at him, confused, lashes fluttering as she blinks at him. “What?”

“Just... this, Felicity. You...” Ugh, he sounds like an idiot. He licks his lips, and for a split second thinks that maybe he’s being overly sentimental. Yeah, he probably is. She probably doesn’t even remember when they first met, she’d just been a kid then.     

As he’s about to tell her to forget it, she tilts her head at him, letting the device fall from her fingers and he sees the moment it dawns upon her. She glances down at herself, then up at him and the biggest smile spreads across her face.

She pushes her glasses up her nose, mirth dancing in her eyes. She shakes her head as if she can’t quite believe it herself. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in an echo of what the younger version of her did at the time, she grins before she opens her mouth to speak.  

“Can you find me a screwdriver, please?”

The same exact words she’d uttered thirteen years ago. She _remembers._

Oliver clambers down to meet her, bad knees be damned, because he’s just so overcome with nostalgia and the hundreds of happy memories he associates with her. He cups her face in his hands, touching their foreheads together.

“You remember,” he mumbles, awestruck. “The day we met.”

“Of course I remember,” she responds, her voice rough with emotion, like she’s also being flooded by all their shared experiences.

He leans in for a kiss,  long and sweet and reverent, eyes fluttering shut as he surrenders himself to his feelings. Felicity pulls back after a while, though her fingers linger around the collar of his shirt.

She bumps his nose with hers, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Besides, how can I ever forget that horrible janitor hair?”

 

 

* * *

END

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it folks! The main story is finished, and there's just an epilogue left before this fic is D O N E :) 
> 
> Borrowed a line from Veronica Mars because well. Just because. 
> 
> In any case, thank you all for reading, and for being on this journey with me for the last 9 weeks. I've really appreciated every comment, kudos and all the feedback I've received and I hope I'll see you guys again for my next one!


	10. Epilogue

“Lyla!”

She almost doesn’t hear her name over the rumble of conversation all around her, but she didn’t get to become A.R.G.U.S’ director by being complacent, so she does hear it, quiet and gentle, a little surprised that anyone would recognise her at this particular event. She turns around and when she sees who the voice belongs to, her heart warms up, unable to stop the smile that blooms on her face.

“Johnny,” she murmurs as her ex-husband, current boyfriend, forever friend approaches, a champagne flute in each hand.

She offers him her cheek and he sweeps a brief kiss over her skin obligingly before handing her a glass. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was bad,” he apologises.  

“You’re not that late,” she tells him with a nod towards the still empty stage. “I don’t think Felicity is here yet anyway.”

“I guess Oliver’s really rubbing off on her, huh?” John chuckles, taking a sip of champagne before beaming at her.

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Lyla warns, squeezing his forearms playfully. “They’ve really outdone themselves, though, haven’t they?”

She gestures around at the festivities around them. The elegant Starling Grand ballroom is filled with people dressed up to the nines, anticipating the main event they’d all been gathered for tonight.

The lack of giant ice sculptures in the hall implies that Moira Queen had little to do with the decorations this time around. Instead, the understated gold and silver streamers, bouquets of flowers across the floor and the quiet live band is evident of Felicity’s unique touch.

The ridiculously oversized finger food that the waiters are serving also definitely screams of Felicity.

Despite that, the Queen matriarch doesn’t seem too bothered by the change. Lyla spots her up front, near the stage having a very animated conversation with Thea Queen, both smiling easily. It's no secret that the relationship between the Queen children and their mother is rocky at best, but it's nice to see that they're getting along tonight.  

“Did you ever think it would come to this?” she asks John, lifting an eyebrow at him, smirking.

He gazes at her distractedly. “Hm?”

“When all of this started? What was it, almost a year ago now? You were so irritated at Oliver, complaining about all his whining,” she clarifies. “Did you think that all that would have led both of them down this path, together and doing so well?" 

They hadn’t gotten back together yet back then, and Johnny had just landed the gig as Oliver’s bodyguard after the latter’s miraculous return from the dead.

She, on the other hand, had been in Starling scouting for new ventures and interviewing contractors to develop technology for A.R.G.U.S’ defence division when they managed to catch up, sharing updates over several coffee dates.

He’d told her about his new ward, ex-spoilt rich kid Oliver Queen, a little damaged and broken, but a generally an all round good guy. His only fault was his constant pining for this girl whose heart he’d broken before his fateful ‘death’.

 _“I didn’t sign up to be the boy’s therapist, Lyla. He talks about Felicity all the damn time!"_ he’d complained. Amused by his irritation, she’d listened eagerly, happy at the fact that despite the dissolution of their marriage, they could still be friendly with each other.

At the time, the name Felicity hadn’t meant anything to her, but then a few days later, her state of the art, A.R.G.U.S. issued laptop had all but crashed when a million alerts popped up on her screen, all saying the same thing.

_Meeting with Felicity Smoak, founder and CEO of Smoak Technologies. :) :)_

“Hey, you complained about Felicity long before you even knew her,” John reminds her.

“She hacked into our servers, I’d say that was warranted,” she retorts. “And I didn’t know she was _Felicity_ , Felicity. She was just some punk - a genius level punk - who got into our system undetected.”

“Always looking for trouble, that one,” he says over a smile. “But in answer to your question, no. No, I didn’t think it would come to this.”

Lyla narrows her eyes at him in disbelief. She takes another sip of champagne, but before she gets a chance to respond, a quiet hush blankets the crowd.

The couple in question enter the hall, a picture of poise and elegance. Felicity’s in a stunning knee-length cocktail dress, sleeveless, dark blue and shimmering, bouncing light off the material of her dress as she walks through the crowd in her impossibly high heels.

Oliver keeps up with her easily, striding protectively by her side in his trademark tailored suit and a matching dark blue tie. Felicity has to side-step past someone in her way and Oliver’s arm flies out to steady her, placing a hand on her lower back. She tilts her chin up at him and brushes a kiss on his cheek before they resume their walk towards the stage.

God, they’re so bloody adorable.

Lyla tears her eyes away from the gorgeous couple to face her man. “Do you mean, when you pestered me to give Oliver a chance to prove himself once you found out that my pain in the butt Felicity Smoak was _Oliver’s_ Felicity, and then gently “suggested” that maybe I could get them to work together on the project, you _didn’t_ want them to end up together?”

John blushes, fighting to hold back what she knows is a proud smile. “Well. When you put it that way.”

“Thought so, you hopeless romantic,” she murmurs, her hand grazing up his chest to readjust the bow tie that’s gone slightly askew. “Not that I regret it of course. They’ve proven themselves to be more than capable, over and over again, Oliver especially, over the last year.”

John beams at her. “His family’s really proud of him too. Moira’s finally confident enough to fully retire, and seeing Oliver doing well at the office encouraged Thea to start interning in the Media and PR department. It’s been a good year for the Queens.”

He doesn’t mention Oliver’s second job as Starling City’s de-facto protector because - well, because he’s smart. But they both know that the Arrow, as he now prefers to be called, is garnering favour among the citizens since introducing his no killing policy and that’s another tick in the list of things that are going well for Oliver.

The loudspeakers crackle to life around them and Lyla turns away from John to face the front. Oliver’s on stage, owning the spotlight like he usually does as Felicity hovers next to him, smiling for the crowd.

“Hi, everyone,” Oliver speak into the mic, clear and confident. “Thank you for coming.”

The crowd claps politely before Oliver holds up a hand and continues. “As you all know, we’re here to celebrate the conclusion of what has been called one of the most unusual joint ventures the technology industry has seen in recent times.”

He turns to his girlfriend, a cheesy grin on his face. “No one at the time could have foreseen Queen Consolidated and Smoak Technologies ever working together, and trust me, I know - I read the articles.”

A tinkle of laughter spreads through the room.

“Anyway, here we are a year later, with our project completed to our client's specifications with barely a hitch in the entire process. Since then, Queen Consolidated and Smoak Technologies have been offered five more contracts to work on together. I guess you can say we've had a pretty good year.” Oliver turns to Felicity and grins.

“As a result, we’re happy to announce officially that we’ve both decided to set up a permanent sub-division of Queen Consolidated and Smoak Technologies to handle these contracts full time. Which, really is entirely in my favour because it means I get to have Felicity here with me, all the time.”

He pauses again for another round of laughter.

“So, thank you again for coming to celebrate this occasion with us, everyone. And hope you enjoy your night!”

“Did you know about this?” Lyla asks John, mildly surprised at the annoucement.

Because she sure didn’t, even though it made complete sense. Their contract with A.R.G.U.S ended a few months ago, with everyone extremely pleased with the outcome. The media circles had picked up on the success of the finished project and for weeks after, she (and the power couple on stage) had been inundated with interview requests about their arrangement.

It was only natural that other agencies would want a piece of them too and setting up something like this is smart. Efficient. Lyla preens a little on the inside knowing that she had played a part in kick-starting their success.

“No,” John answers. “But Felicity mentioned something about an announcement tonight and insisted that I be here. This is probably it. I’m so proud of them.”

Lyla grins, opening her mouth to agree but is suddenly distracted by Felicity’s voice over the loudspeakers. She turns back to the stage, eyebrows arched in surprise because Felicity’s never been one for speeches or the spotlight, but there she is, stunning and radiant, commandeering the stage like she owns it.

Maybe Oliver really _is_ rubbing off on her.

“Actually.” Felicity clears her throat once, which makes Oliver, who had been about to walk off the stage, turn back to her. “Before we get started with the festivities...”

From her vantage point, Lyla can see that Felicity’s fingers are clutching the mic in her hand very tightly and she’s worrying her bottom lip. Her back straightens after a second, like she’s just given herself a mental pep talk and she speaks again.

“I have another... um. Can you, Oliver, can you come closer please?”

Oliver shoots the crowd a confused and bemused look but walks back to the centre of the stage obediently to end up right by her side again.

He bows his head and says something unintelligible into her ear. It elicits a chuckle from Felicity, and then she brings the mic back up to her lips.  She turns away from the crowd to face Oliver. 

“I know - we all know - how well our companies have worked together this year. And I hope we continue our streak for a really long time to come. Professionally, our joint venture has been one of the best experiences of my life, and...” she swallows, faltering a little, but then licks her lips and sucks in a deep breath.

“And I guess.. What I’m, um. What I’m trying to say is that I want to extend our joint venture past the realm of professionalism.”

A palpable murmur bubbles through the room. Lyla’s own heart starts beating hard and she feels John’s hands curling around hers, squeezing tightly.

“Oliver,” Felicity says breathlessly. “Love of my life, Queen of my heart,” she winces, then turns to the crowd. “Oh god, that was so bad, everyone please forget I ever said that.”

She turns back to Oliver. This time, she’s sure and confident and positively glowing.

“Oliver Queen, will you marry me?”

The entire room descends into an eerie silence, tension rippling, anticipation building like a dam about to burst.

Oliver’s frozen on stage, hands hanging by his side, staring at her with his mouth agape. For a few long, almost painful seconds, no one says a word. Felicity blinks at him, chest heaving.

Then he moves, slowly, still looking very dumbfounded. He peels the mic from her fingers, swaps it to his other hand so he can tangle his fingers with hers. He pulls her in, catching her as she sways slightly on her heels He leans down so his forehead touches hers, effectively blocking out the rest of the room.

Lyla sees the corner of his lips curl upwards, grinning, before he brings the mic up between them.

“Yes. _Yes,_ Felicity. I’ll marry you.”

And the crowd goes wild.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! Thank you so much for reading, commenting and all the kudos over the past 10 weeks. You don't know how great it is to know that people are out here enjoying my work :) 
> 
> I don't know if I'm done with this universe yet, but for now this is it. If you want to chat, hit me up on twitter: @estheryam 
> 
> Until next time!!


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